Who'll keep me warm, when you are gone?
After snowfall,
who'll sing the mornings sweet songs?
At the end of it all,
when all's said and done, will we still get along?

The hardest time might not be all the frost.
Maybe it's our autumns,
to swallow our pride and sit inside with our loss,
waiting for blossoms.
But we've to plant them ourselves when uprooting dross.

And the birds will come home, at long last, to nest,
and flowers will bloom,
while I sit and I wait, heart longing for rest -
that can't come without you.