Something getting old.

Nothing will end here.

Don’t follow the moon,

the clouds are the ones running away tonight!

I cannot see your reflection, Oh Sun! 

I can only sense a new warmth,

rays of forgivenss,

a continuous will.

Nothing ends here.

Only that which resists this change will be dispersed,

but you , Sun, will rise again tomorrow,

and I will go and feed the cows,

spring will burst through this last snow

and we will again change. 

This other way is old and will just disappear.