How I hate,
These winter mornings,
To hell with the cold,
And the fog,
This is,
A special one,
And I rose,
With the sun,
This one morning,
surrounded,
By if not all,
Many a ones,
I cherished,
And for the ones,
Who were not,
I Shall not pity,
But hope,
As for all of them,
May the sun shine,
Equally bright on you,
Time shall follow its own course,
But I hope my firend,
This year be ours!
All ours!
