I want to plan.
But I never leave on time.
Thank god you didn’t make that promise.
We’ll never plan,
And you’ll always want to leave.

Smelling the roses—doesn’t it mean anything?
Or the apples
or the leaves
or the sunshine
or the snow?
The snow!

Is it already winter?
Where did my Autumn go?

I only die and relive once a year.
The summer is my mother.
And my death comes as soon as the last leaf
has fallen from the last tree.
Tell me what the winter and spring are like.

Teach me to love them,
so I may live in them too.

Winter, why do you tiptoe from ‘round the orchard’s outskirts?
Some here and give me winter apples and winter leaves.
Freeze my favorite things
So that I may hold on tight to them.

Autumn won’t make me a promise.
For that, I am sure to die.
Always leaving right on time.

Maybe I’m always late because I just want to
Stand still.
Have you thought of it?
I do, everyday.

I am afraid of change,
But what’s more:
I am afraid that if I move forward,
I’ll lose the beauty of now.

Are you there?