Summer sun, sets once again so long, are gone the birds, you knew their song would fly, from here, in your soul, its toll a burden is taking my hand, you raise, your eyes ask me, why softly spoken spring leaves of summer wane, with autumn wind of winter, whistles so - so harshly you take this, little child do not cry, for me, for you for summer, cedes to Fall falls to barren winter, is not death is but a-sleep and pregnant is the spring, it shall to life again we’ll leap, you and I under the summer sun sets once again so long. by Cecil Chabot