The water glides upon the shore, a natural rhythm of which I adore;
The sound of leaves, as they fall from the trees and settle upon your front door;
Step back from the naked branches and say, "You are still just as lovely, with your clothes gone away!"
But with the season coming to a halt;
I can do nothing more but to try and find fault.
Although Spring will be here; counted down to the hours.
It's the grief that I fear; for last year's leaves and flowers.