The harden trees cry borning leaves and there day
The great north wind blows green upon their bail
And the patch and the frost on the pen
Form like pictures that dodge through my brain
Again... And again
The wind in the meadows turn to wicks
The fogs reach. Is further for his knell
And my hand reach is out in the night
For the love which are gone with the light
Edge faded
As the cell often coats in a vice wraps the trees... For winter
The wind cuts this way... Like a knife... To the holes
In my close
And I wonder... What's become... All my life
...
The swallows gone away until next year
The crow sings the only some idea
And the snow man is staring at me
Fang the lord [?] his eyes cannot see
And he sleeps can never ask me
Why... I stand... Alone... In the winter... Of my life