When cold-season and wintry weather is abound,

The ladies languish the loss of the sky candle.


Yet, when the sky-candle surfaces in the spring,

The ladies don't languish the loss of I.


The winter-rainment I wearily wrought with woe,

Perishes shortly after its creation.


The residents retreat into their home-hovels,

Leaving me alone, shunned, and unwanted.


I encase the sea-garment in sheets of glorious clear-crystal,

Only to have wood's bane melt my masterpiece.


So I wearily work in the wretched cold for three long months,

Only to have my best efforts unappreciated and unwanted.


So here waits I, morbidly melancholy,

Waiting for my reign of winter weather to end.


I remember a time, a time when everyone welcomed me,

But the love of I, Winter, has ceased to exist.


So when my chill blasts of the north-wind are driven,

The people candidly celebrate my departure.


So when Spring's blooming-bosom greets the sky-candle,

And my shades of gloomy grays are morphed into jubilant greens,

I depart this world, unloved and unwanted yet again.


For when the Three-Seasons who are loved come to pass,

I shall return, unloved and unwanted yet again.