Starry woods i once strode
On an errand to Grandmother's.
Warmly clad and warmly clothed
On a chilly night one December.
Warm indeed was her welcome
And before i left she searched her little pocket.
A little attic always full of surprises,
She loosened her fist to reveal a silver locket.
As i strode back there was a heavenly air
With a taste of mist; a touch of winter.
The flowers beside the lake chill and shiver,
Such ache filled my heart when i trampled over a pretty yellow flower!
Brittle as the yellow flower, brittle as a butterfly's wing
Is the life of a human being
When happy days and singing of the sweet days of spring
Is overcome by the brutality of winter.