The beautiful odour of October winds gently caress me with it’s benevolent hands, yet so dark and gloomy in it’s soul It permeates my intense heart with silent delight How I do love the passion of fading away
the passion of dying…
For it is Death herself who sweeps the landscape, embracing a lost world in shades and vapour
I will never forget the dread of November, her grievance and stillness of lonely nights The desire of heart, in minor adorned, dancing so gently as dim northern lights
How I do love this pleasant seclusion, this old bitter-sweet feeling, the passion of solitude
O’ my frozen Queen of December nights let me transcend into a sleep without dreams, let me wither in your cold white arms…