Withering Buds

Moments of peircing pain burst,
Throughout sunlight's vacant embrace.
How stealthly autumn borns,
A last wind to whip salty eyes.

The sharpened cold,
Withers the early springing buds.
Mournful peace over the fields
of gray dusk thretening to rain.

I did not...did not wanted ..to see
The first bud of spring withers.
How i envy,
Their paralysed pain.

I wish to be taken away by them,
Through arctic storms up high,
Only dead ravished hands to greet,
The fatal season within my heart.