Sitting alone in a withered garden
(She thinks it's the end of November)
A sprinkle of frost glazes the earth
She watches her breath rise in cold puffs
And she tenderly tries to remember

What treasures lie forged in her summer?
What pleasure was the kiss of spring air?
How often did she, in good company lie,
Thinking deeply 'til the latest hour of morning?
Tripping gaily through blazing dandelions?

Yet more importantly, how was it lost?
What dark thief stole on the breath of midnight
And took her happiest summer day?
Who turned her ponderings into a strained work,
And shook her hard from sweetest dreams?

But alas, what's over is over, gone to the past
She's been uprooted to Winter's deadness
She must find life in this cold natural tomb
And see herself smiling with chilly dawn
Laughing with skeleton flowers