A Question of Balance

Without the icy winter bleak, no summer bird would sing, if never dropped an autumn leaf, no blossom in the spring. If soaking rain would cease to fall or Mistral fail to blow, there’d be no forest deep and tall or mountain capped in snow. Should fog and cloud just stay away the sun we would evade, no violent storm our senses flay tranquility would jade. Thus sorrow’s pain must temper blue our hearts that joy may feel, while hate shall weigh with love so true steadfastness - passions zeal. So should you leave my life amiss the scale would surely lean, discard me lost to dark abyss where I would die unseen.