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As winter touched her ashen face,
it touched this heart that beat.
With memories of the spring of her,
the warmth my soul did meet.

The summer of her laughter,
the autumn of her sighs.
The breeze blown clouds her whispers,
the rambling brook her cries.

No spring will warm my life again,
nor summer bring the dove.
No autumn bring the still for me,
since winter claimed, my love.