Old Sol claims the sky
by day, sweetening the fruit
for the harvest moon;

in your eyes I long to see
a desire for my heart,

Leaves begin to turn,
soon the air grows crisp and chill,
the sun grows aloof;

but you gift me with no smile
and hope withers in my breast.

Snow blankets the ground,
breath hangs upon frigid air
and ice rules the day;

like frost you chill my passions.
I no longer seek your charms.

Tender leaves unfurl,
life reaches toward the sky and
timid blossoms bloom;

your interest in me only flares
as my passion for you wanes.