The sun streams through my window pane
And warms the rising day,
The birds call sweetly, singing clear,
That life is on the way.
The spring crawls up and through the snow
A bright and clarion call,
The rose bush rises, flowers grow,
Eternally, withall.
My rose it reachs, colours paint,
And begs the rain anew,
Spreads the palettes rich and faint,
A floral, gaudy hue.
Those long warm days of listless air
with promises of of love,
Brought to close with little care,
Of clouds that drift above.
Yet in those clouds with autumn sky
Another season goes,
My time is swiftly blowing by,
A crumpled, dying rose.
Now cool and chill my window pane
Keeps back the winter snows,
That hide the thorns and blackened buds
That was my springtime rose.
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