The fields are fallow, now, when once they were full,
But I harvested the last vestige of our love long ago.
Despite the winter's wind feeling cold and cruel,
Our failing heart can be preserved beneath the blessed snow.
The hearth is not as warming as it was
And the fire seems to burn insipidly;
I knew that when the summer set, we would be lost
And now the dreams we nurtured close have flown free.
I often wonder if you tread the paths we trod before,
Or if those dreamy trails are overgrown -
The countryside we walked and so adored
Is poisoned now by all the sorry seeds we've sown.
I ask you only this as I glance out upon the land:
Do not forget that sorrow has a way of seeping out.
If now you crawl, then make a final stand
And bathe in springs that come to drown the drought.