The winter is done
Though my own wish for a quilt of sand
So it doesn't have to burn
When it wakes up with a hollow hand
The snow is clear
And a flash is whirling in the air
But it doesn't have to run
As it cannot bolster what i wear
The mist is ailing
And flowers are a bit of fair
But they doesn't have to string
The song of a roset square
The wind is warm
For the feast and for the bare
But it doesn't have to halt
The gust of raving care
The winter is done
And I wish it was never there
Were you a little tender
I must had smiled in blossoms, oh dear
