Ode to the wandering webs we weave,
where bitterness is what deceives-
the crying is best left in shame,
and the darkness is not to blame.
The land is like a forgotten morning,
and the wind is forever moaning.
The seed of temptation is not few,
when yesterdays are gone with dew.
I try to walk upon the mile,
where my belov'd has temptation's smile.
I cannot remember where I left,
when you have gone alone one day.
In the autumn of this coming May,
the sun will shine on eves of gray-
ode to the love that comes today,
the death is gone and will not stay.
Snow! How you fall upon my face,
washing away a bitter place-
the sun comes from far away,
and so we're gone, and will not stay.