The sluggish flies of fall will soon surrender;
not yet the days so cold, we swim in splendor.
I am yours now; the grasses golden at my knees.
I am yours too; the brilliant fire of sundry leaves.
The wind is there, yes, but not too much;
the chill is nearby too, but just a touch.
Bring me all of your clouds, festooned in sky;
especially their shadows over mountains high.
Show me the smile on the face of a child;
the blanket pulled back, her face pink and wild.
Help me get lost for the longest way home;
our time is too quick, this season on loan.