A summers breath turns to winters fall, for if the spring brings life to be, the starry nights bring dreams delight, while the morning sun rises hopes to be, by evenings dawn the old man yawns, this winters night turns to be his blight, no fire for warmth, no food to plate, no hand to hold, his soul grows cold, fleeting snow freezes all hope, for time has passed, this breath to be his last.

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