Cold summer loomed overhead,

And I didn’t see it coming, and now

It’s already here.

But didn’t I know?

It’s been summer now for eight years,

And where was I but lost in winter’s snow?

My worst fear was to be left behind in that field,

And after he died, I was too scared to find my way back home.

Purgatory is where I’ve made my stay,

In my own locked away winter world,

Following people passing by, a lost soul who’s lost his way,

I’ll find nothing new this year even on the anniversary of that day:

September 1st, the first day of the school month,

When life always seems it can change; eight years and I feel the same.