The winter has grown very old.
She is lonely and depressed.
Only the younger son helps her,
The modest and timid young man,
Dressed in a unfashionable coat.
He is hopelessly in love with the lovely Spring.
February, February, my sad boy!
Your destiny is unlucky:
Every year, when you go away
Nobody is sad or misses you,
And nobody cries bitterly about you,
Nobody take your hand tenderly.