The grand orb has abandoned me again.
She does so every year, and takes the warmth with her.
Left dwelling with an empty sky of gray, and a recurring vacant day.
My soul cringes and withers,
as cold tears of what passed, dampen my opaque mind.
I sit and wait, always pray she’s not late.
As time drags and curses.
Dreams of weeds and rabbit-trekked grass,
allow this epoch to pass, though the feeling won’t last.