The Clouds Above Were Gray And Sad,
The Ground Below, Chilled And Dying,
The Soul Of Summer Sunk Slowly Into The Soil,
As The River Cringed With The Presence Of Ice

The Sweet Songs Of The Sparrows Had Retreated,
Replaced By A Silence Which Hung Within The Trees,
And The Leaves Which Once Whispered In The Breeze,
Were Now Brittle And Brown, Recoiling On The Forest Floor

The Sun Stayed Hidden Throughout The Days,
Giving It's Much Needed Warmth To The Stars,
The Only Heat My Body Can Conjure Up,
Is That Of Which Was Generated By My Heart,
But It Too, Is A Victim Of Winter's Frosted Fingers