January and February were never so empty and gray.
Tragic'lly I feel like crying, "Without you, my darling, I'm dying."
But let's rather put it this way:
Spring will be a little late this year,
A little late arriving in my lonely world over here,
For you have left me, and where is our April of old?
You have left me, and winter continues cold,
As if to say that Spring will be a little slow to start,
A little slow reviving that music it made in my heart.
Yes, time heals all things, so I needn't cling to this fear,
It's merely that Spring will be a little late this year.