Autumnsong
Green to gold to brown: they fall
Like the rain that's soon to come.
The days grow short, the nights grow chill-
The harvest, is nearly done.
(Oh, it's nearly done)
The clouds roll in, the birds fly south
A change is in the air.
The fruit too ripe, the darkness grows-
I can feel it everywhere.
(Oh, it's everywhere)
I look back upon the sunny days
And think of "what might have been."
As creatures, they run, run all about-
And prepare for the storms again.
(Oh, they're coming again)
(Winter will soon be here again)
