Green now, soon shall be bare,
When winter comes, crawling from its lair.
We shall be for aeons apart;
I wonder then, how we’ll fare.
Gazes held will fade away,
As the frost settles, here to stay.
Our feet shall trod the leaves black;
I wonder then, in whose arms I’ll lay.
The grey clouds shall rise again,
And listless again shall be the lanes.
Our eyes shall witness the nights long;
I wonder then, about the wintry rains.
The fires of passion will burn away,
As time passes, day by day.
The wicked winds will wither and waste;
I wonder then, what we’ll say