In the winter, my summer of warm
glories, is you. Beyond the clouds,
the shy sun tries to reach out through the glittering rays, is me.
In the spring, the dying flowers, is me.
The dark of thorns, undying and strong, with the beauty of petals,
is you. In the autumn, the fall of memories
is you. As the naked tree, the fearful heart tries to hide away in
the shrubs, is me. In the rain, the parched soul, is me. Drenched with pristine,
flawless and immaculate, with the speckled deceitful heart is you.