what is this winter's chill? Revenge- it calls; I will not rent. Spirit of man is frozen still while mercy fills me I'll not be bent and I am moved if by your will a robust heart with deep pigment and I become spring's daffodil the who I am shall not relent. Gray hairs spark and thrust me forth through many tears that I have cried as I have built this life towards north these chisels worn I leave behind. And once I've passed my deathly port my scroll as long as life is wide unto you I shall report though I've not turned man's tide.