That time of the year

                                                       View from Uppsala guest house

It is that time of the year

Could turn all lands barren

So sudden

All follies look right

And boons become curses;

It is that time of the year

Could we remember ever

Without despair

With colours turning red

And brightness all around;

When Silence reigns

Over all thoughts

When gratitude prevails

Over complaints

It is that time of the year

We cannot live without.