The sluggish flies of fall will soon surrender; not yet the days too 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 here, but not too much; the chill is too, but just a touch.
Bring me those clouds, festooned in sky; bring me their shadows, over mountains high.
Show me the smile on the face of a child; show me her face, all pink and wild.
Help me to find the longest way home; all time is too quick, this season on loan.