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.