Swans dance on the ripping waves.
Wing and wing,
as tempest blows temperature south,
Leaves change form green to red.
For not long the leaves wither and fade.
Soon the snow will kiss the moss.
passing seasons, are not lost
When all the while white,
delightful, feather's of white fill my heart,
at last the wait was worth it.
For spring has released the song birds,
Now my heart is light free as a wing of a swan
for winter has released us,