The Season To Come

How soft the rain is falling On the paper as I write, Little teardrops fall from heaven Tis the rain before the night. And as night the wind is growing Slow but surely growing cold, Cold and colder, winter’s coming As the naked trees foretold. Here I stand on tears of heaven Tears the diamonds on the grass, How the world has changed and summer Is a season come to pass. Even autumn talks of leaving Though I’ve begged him so to stay, Soon his amber, woven carpets And he too will go away. As I walk the narrow footpath Through the softly swaying trees, And I touch their empty branches Cold and colder than the breeze. Yet when all has fled or withered And I walk the path alone, Step by step the winding footpath when I walk all by my own. Then my days will not be empty I will count them each in turn, Till that long awaited moment When the winter will return.