There is winter in the air,
and its unnoticeable presence
makes its way into the world of the obvious
to reveal that it has always been there.

And, in the approach to a non-existing summer,
the mind is to awake,
for all that it knows is as fake
as the mask concealing the countenance.

Like a statue of time,
the immutable remains a-changing,
for it is in its nature, not ageing,
with no jury to judge this will.

Then, in the end, again
we'll turn our heads and gaze at winter
and fathom that it does not vanish nor fade,
in a continuous existence and uncertain fate,
cause the truth is there's no winter.