Windchimes sing and birds chatter,
Wond'ring of what, of what's the matter.
A cold chill wind, and Fortune's changed,
Shadows cast on the weather vane.
Sky overcast, the clouds pass over
And rain upon the fields of clover,
And here I stand, shiv'ring, alone,
My straw hair wet, my heart a stone.
A starless night has quelled the day.
The truth has borne my love away
And welcomed her with purer charms
To another's warm, embracing arms.
... And what's that truth? It's simple, clear: ... The seasons change, year after year.