The air might feel cold,
but I do not care,
and as a chilly wind
blows through my hair,
I listen to the birds
that sing with great flair.

The seasons are changing,
the cold will pass soon:
that makes me happy
and over the moon.
O,  this happiness inside,
I could almost croon.

Days are more often
filled with the sun.
Warmth slowly follows,
but when the cold is done
none of that will matter
as Spring will have won.