The hiver is raw
Maybe vier than past
Yet i dont feel
Its swelter on calves
I walk and swing
In ado of stey
Yet for the beloved
I have nothing to say
Is it due to visor
A shade of the owl
The taking of a leisure
A part of the bowl
Or is it the rhythm
A chorus of the rain
The drizzle and the fall
A song all the same
The choler is bathing
In dinette of the hall
The eking of a maple
The journey for a call
But the ways are blaze
They dont weave from scars
It is a fate
We stumble on in dark
