Refreshing winds from distant skies, a dying love from distant eyes. Another cruelty brought to me. And again a flower born and

before it withers wind's whispers are blowing it away... Falling leaves from trees that died, a growing sadness becoming mine, but

it's not time for leaves to fall and it's not time for dying at all... Clouds are sick of being dark, when sorrows must follow the

last rain drops, but stay... Is lone the path to walk among the green, as with melancholy of the grey something faded away, but

melancholy remained... I cannot... regret... In springtime the grey has the due to fade away but the days come grey again, with the

season of grief in bloom cause in springtime the deaths are two.