The summer season is over, the leaves on the trees in the park have turned red.
My young time is over and my hair has turned much whiter.
I go to sleep today with forgotten events wrapped around my body.
Little by little the wind grows colder.
Little by little, events grow old.
Little by little I am approaching death.
Soon winter will come.
Soon snow will fall to cover up the unnecessary.
And spring will come to wash it all away.
If I disappear next year, no one will notice.
No record will be kept.
No one will sleep with me wrapped around their body.