All too soon the summer has passed,
The world again looks old.
The golden rod and the asters
Prelude the winter's cold. Each new day waxes shorter
As the sun drops out of sight,
To stretch man's hours of labor
Into the blacken night. The crops await the harvest,
Sear in the autumn sun,
Yet many moons are yet to rise
Before man's work is done. The seasons change eternal,
And the old gives way to new.
Yet, the earth still holds its treasures
And the sky retains its blue. | 
