Lying in the cold, wondering where the summer went...
Was there not a spring?
Has Autumn all been spent?
You'll have to grant me pardon now if I seem discontent.
This is the worst of times, when better times have gone,
deserting me and hurting me, leaving me alone.
Did I give offense?
Pray! Say! Tell! what I did so wrong,
to incur the wrath of colder times, when better times have gone?
