The tree outside my windowpane has grown throughout the years, weathering well the seasons. At times lush and green, later covered in sweet fruit, later still it shines with blazing golden glory, which eventually, dejectedly fades. And, after a short time of forlornly waving its barren branches, which even then, are lent a certain beauty by the momentary crystal snow; once again bursts into its former green finery. And I have changed with it, once a baby, once a boy, once a young man, now an old man. But unlike it, I shall never again know the seasons of my youth. My time is spent - my winter is evermore.