Oh, sweet summer child
Thou understand nothing of winter
Thy life has been effortless and mild
Mine but an eternal aching splinter

Oh, sweet summer child
Thou wandered in floral meadows
Getting inebriated on life, free and wild
I did nothing but run from the darkest of shadows

Oh, sweet summer child
The sun shines on thy skin like gold
The gods created thou and smiled
what a work of craft thou art to behold

Oh sweet, dear sweet, summer-born
Thou were formed on the most verdant of fields
Thou art a garden, a rose without a single thorn
For a winter child, life forces but to yield

Oh, sweet, sweet summer-born
Be pleased of the happiness thy heart possesses
Being born in darkness is nothing but to mourn
Observing from afar those with lives of blesses

Oh, sweet summer child
Indeed, thou comprehend nothing of winter
Thou think this heart of mine is far too mild
But survived has it done from a life of splinter