Every year we meet,
Yet you do not look my way.

What wrong have I done to you dear one?
Don't I preserve you?

Winter's kiss may bring the end.
But at the end lies a new beginning.
For something must die, if something new is to be born.

This is the way of Winter.

September brings with her a Spring of colour and hope and joy.
Now I bid you adieu, dear one.
Until we meet again...

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