The tide that comes, darkness longing, the days grow short and still…
The warmth of sun, daylight fleeting, summer has fallen ill.
 
The cold beckons forth, his long boney hands, clutch tight about your heart…
Your breath rushes out, your chest heaving low, your death is at the start.
 
The seasons change, the year is passing, winter skies are all above…
All too familiar, for now she is gone, just the cold in place of love.