In a field of echoes, the wind will remember,
The names it has carried in the past,
Even in silence, the frost of December,
Daisies dance in the grass,
I can smell the summer, through the bite of snow,
On This fitful and lamenting breeze,
Feel the tender shoots that grow,
Beneath the silent freeze.
Memory blossoms and perfumes the sky,
With the heady aroma of spring,
Though cold sunshine here limply lies,
I’ve summer’s song to sing.