The trees stand forlorn, its leaves long gone
Below, a carpet of every hue
Its branches specks of ice adorn
To herald the onset of a winter new
Cold and chill fills my dreary mind
The nights are dark and bleak
If winter is here can spring be far behind
Those days of joy, I vainly seek
Then the flowers would in glory bloom
Would bathe us the tender rays of sun
To wipe away from our mind the gloom
Joy and mirth would fill every one
The changing seasons are the work of the Lord
To ensure, he is remembered and adored
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
changing seasons- works of the Lord, right sir..