Once again the seasons have changed their many coloured cloaks,
and I am left thinking of the times past.
You were so warm when we met long ago,
yet now you are steeped in winter,
resting – knowing that spring must come again.
Here I stand, still dreaming of your meadows,
and crushed-grass scent,
and I wonder,
if you ever gaze out from frost-glazed fields
and dream of me?