By John Delonas
Summer is gone from the hills, And winter is near, The shadows of the night fills The memory of happy evenings here. Now that I am alone, Words of love come that never came, Sweet meanings never said; If only all were the same, Oh! for that happy life once led. Often I wake at dawn, And stare through frosted windowpane, Cros't the snow-crusted lawn To your darkened window by the lane, Then slowly, sadly turn away To wonder And sigh, Over loves torn asunder, I wonder why. (Why?)