All have I seen in this month of may
Rhapsodized and then reconciled
And now today I am stranded in this game
Like the tombstone waiting for its name.
A poor boy once in a bad old time
He was disparaged and then he was in love
And then he heard the dulcet dirge
He has seen me when the thoughts went low
But most of it he wont mention right now.
The warm mellifluous melancholy
And the chilled northern winds
They come together, brewed by the blue sky
Penning the finest poetry yet very austere
Recollecting the past, predicting the future.
