My Separation from you has felt just like winter and everything has been as barren as in December –
And yet the time we’ve been apart was actually summer, then fall, the harvest-time when nature gives birth to crops planted in the Spring
My Spring as dead as a dead Mother, the season gone even while crops planted remained, my Spring like a woman giving birth to a stillborn child
after her husband’s death do these abundant fruits of nature seem as hopeless orphans to me because Summer and Summer’s pleasures all depended on you..
and without you anyway, even the birds are silent.
Or, if they sing, their song’s so dismal that the leaves grow pale with fear, dreading the fact that Winter’s almost here and you are nowhere near.