To view a mossy forest glade;
to linger in a jackpine’s shade;
to taste an icy mountain creek,
and wish with all your heart
that you were on that mountain peak,
and that you were a part
of the solitude.
To walk a dusty country road;
to know a bullfrog from a toad;
to watch the waves break on the beach,
and taste the wind-blown spray,
and stand beyond the breakers’ reach
until the end of day.
And the wind was warm.
To lie there in your upstairs room;
to smell the summer’s sweet perfume;
to ponder on your passing youth,
and hum a mournful song,
but still you just can’t face the truth
that the days aren’t quite so long,
for now it’s autumn.
