His knees trembled in the slippery cold
Beside the benches dressed with leaves
Mother was coming, yes so he's been told
To wait in an hour by the dripping trees.
Where the Bluejay sang his evening hymn
In the light red blowing of the weary breeze
So he waited hours till the skies turned dim
When the moon hanged idly upon the trees.
But not a sight of her in the blue distance
So he glided across the glass of the snow
To the narrow path of the park's entrance
Where the last velvet hues gently blows.
His heart alarmed the sad tune of despair
He was reminded of his lifelong infirmity
Strolling sadly by on the wheels of a chair
He feared bitter a death in this vast vanity.
He felt on his shoulders a warm embrace
Thawing his fears was her loving face.