We buried my sister in Winter

We buried my sister in winter.
She didn't come back in the spring.
Nor did she shoot up through the tangle of earth like some miracle flowering thing.
Nor did she fly down like a bright butterfly just to show off her newly dried wings.
Nor did she sing songs on the breeze blowing past just to show off how well she could sing.
We buried my sister that winter.
She didn't come back the next Spring.
I still found a way to skip rocks in a river, but that's all the trick to the thing.