As time moves on and the brave day seeks his hideous nightly bed,
I behold those faded flowers well past their prime,
Mature trees now leafless, denuded and bare are wilting,
As summer’s green is all but gone,
Stolen by autumn’s greedy hand.

But now that autumn is borne away, by that white chilly one,
Among the wastes of time, this years autumn is gone awry,
Like a woman’s portrait painted by nature’s hand,
Hue of hues, unknown by anyone,
Now winter is here, stealing that women’s soul,

Whereupon it looks and I am,
Worried about April’s first born flowers.
Sun’s glorious eye look’d on at winter’s horrid crime,
the plunder of women’s summer soul’s,
Once, that winter was a fair sweet youth.

Gone are those days, as winter’s is showing no remorse
As souls lost, seldom or never found again,
Winter’s crime, like broken glass no cement can redress
Flowers withered, covered by winters snowy shame