In silence we mourn

In silence we mourn,
the summer sun,
amidst the howling winter storm,
in silence we mourn,
and look forlorn,
as the darkness of the day it breeds contempt in us,
and leaves us longing for the happier days of summer,
the icy wind it leaves us with sad faces,
as the wind it blows through the trees,
and the leaves, they fly so quickly through the air,
and we bemoan those sunny days that too quickly have come and gone,
as the wind it plays havoc with our hair,
and where we stride,
we are buffeted from all sides,
by the wind, who for where we want to go does not care,
and sadly, its icy bitterness with us it does share,
and though we are wrapped in a large coat and hat and wear gloves and boots and look very debonair,
how we wish were not here,
nor here, there, and everywhere,
where the wind chooses to carry us in its icy powerful grip,
but by the fire with a glass of wine and sat in an armchair without a care,
oh, how we mourn the summer sun that has come and gone,
leaving us in the icy chill of the winter storm,
hurrying along,
cursing the grey skies and the icy wind that fills us with despair,
on our way as quick as we can, to somewhere,
to somewhere better, where we will not freeze to death,
as the icy wind it tries to freeze our breath,
and our breath it hangs like a ghost upon the air,
and the icy bitter wind it does its best to finish us off and send us to an early grave,
oh, the despair,
the despair of the icy winter wind that plays havoc with our hair,
oh, please come back summer sun for this is the winter of discontent,
yet again,
and no, the winter wind it never repents,
and it never relents,
and it is not much fun,
and although the sight of the snow it is truly beautiful,
I am sorry wind,
but I have to go,
so, blow, blow, blow,
blow as you like,
but it will only make me go, go, go,
faster than you wish,
and whilst you, you try my momentum to resist,
and I struggle against you with great determined strides,
my mind will be on my destination,
and I will be thinking of sitting by the fire,
with a glass of wine,
as you howl at me so Icily and bitterly,
but I will not care,
I will not care.

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