I remember August and the rain,
the little pleasures wrested from the pain;
how we met and how we built our love
on a lovers' dialectic that can prove
that youth and love together can remove
Winter's fetters , letting none remain.

But now the Spring , with twisted mouth agape
singing like any slut of lust and rape
has beaten all our fancied dreams awry;
with probing fingers turns to peek and pry
into a love that once was proud and high
but now goes humble in its mourning crepe.