Let me face the beginning of the cold season
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And stand up against the wind whose icy fists would fold me.
The season when all the leaves have left the trees
And color has faded from the sky;
Whose steel cover prevents the sun from shining
And blankets the earth with ice.
Memories of warmer days have disappeared
With the sunflowers and peonies
And hopes that were born in the spring
Have fallen away one by one with the leaves.
Now naked the branches stand like sentries in a graveyard;
And the buildings like tombstones.
Mother, we should have the grave dug before the sod freezes.
See here is a polished stone without writing,
I think we should compose a letter to the obituaries….
The icy wind is howling across the landscape like a harvester’s scythe
And I do believe I shall never be warm again