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.