On a snowy night he walks alone,
His hands are cold, his eyes are stone.
A limp he has, a cane he holds,
This old man walks; his story unfolds.

A frown he wears on his face of steel,
His heart was broken, never to heal.
He stops and stares at lovers so glad,
That joy they show he, too, once had.

Turning away, he walks still on,
His love had died before its dawn.
He sees the sky all covered in cloud,
He makes no sound, yet yells aloud.

Turning away, his eyes cast down,
His heart cries without a sound.
He shuffles away down the lane,
His mind and heart in anguished pain.