It's amazing how much beauty can be found
With just a quiet street and peaceful mind
And wonder at the gifts that God's bestowed
Upon this rolling ball, our sole abode.

I sit within the quiet street
Where once young lovers used to meet
But now comes midnight, drawing swift,
This sacred, silent night is such a gift.

Where shops once bustled selling wares
And people crowded narrow stairs
Now merchants, silent, the people gone
To wake again upon the dawn.

The air is lovely, cold, and dark,
Sleeping are the finch and lark
The winter season's finally here
And seems to wrap the world in fear.

But you might urge it is not so
With holidays, and gifts with bow,
Two different sides we both have seen,
Just ask yourself: What does he mean?

It is the night and no one is about
Gone is the hustle, cry, or shout,
The flowers have all died away
And trees have changed to deathly grey.

Like all the seasons was our love
A gift, it seemed, from skies above,
But as it's said, the seasons change
Though never would I her exchange.

It started with the April rain
Through all their sadness and the pain,
Our love began to bud and spring,
For then came May on lighter wing.

From warming May to sunny June,
Our love grew warmer, not too soon, 
And then came gallant, great July,
Who conquers all with ruby'd eye.

From July's greatness came August
Whose grandeur was a heated must,
So sure were we that ours was it,
But soon we'd know of our poor fit.

Then came September, strangest time,
Transitional, and yet sublime,
Yet we both should have gone to school,
Before the air grew chilled and cool.

October was a magic day
With colored leaves in bright array,
Yet you costumed your lovely face
'Twas this that made my poor heart race.

November came with sharper chill
The rains fall down, but just to fill
My eyes with tears that go unshed
For now the leaves are gone and dead.

December's when I heard the last
Of her, who once I held so fast
The air is cold, I see my breath,
But all I'm feeling now is death.

So here I am, I sit alone
This quiet nighttime on my own
I wonder what New Year's will see
What joys (or horrors) wait for me?

This brings me to my final word
A sudden thought has just occurred
If Autumn does the Winter get,
What comes of Winter as of yet?

For dying death shall winter fade
The frost and snow shall be unlaid
The sun shall take the sky again
Which brings the Spring from out its den.

So that is why, in dark, and cold,
I find my joy in what's foretold,
I shall my love's sweet blossom see
And this puts light and warmth in me.