Oh, in autumn, when the leaves are painted with impending sleep
To brighten the sky, before the world draws in upon itself,
And Winter blankets all with a cool pause,
There is still time for crisp apple's juice, blinking stars,
and rose-cheeked smiles, amidst summer's plenty,
As we stroll down these quiet country ways,
Clasping hands among the trees,
Murmuring to each other of yesterday's youth,
And not minding its
Rebirth.
