It's night, and it's cold
And still the birds come to sing at my window

First signs of spring failed to appear as yet
And the air is loaded with shreds of ice
The sun is still fighting the grey mist of sky
And there is still no salvation for the shivering trees

Quiet they wait for the yellow light of summer
And on their branches the birds come to cry

Because they know that this was once summer
And there will be no more summer than this


London, February 2005