Season Turning

Season turning

The fields have been mowed, the hay is now rolled,

Autumn has dropped all her glorious gold.

Summer just a memory that might came again.

Now Winter approaches with frost, snow and rain.

But with fields that are mowed and hay that is rolled,

With a fire that burns bright to master the cold,

We’ll wait through the Winter; till the trees start to sing,

And the melody tells us we’ve moved into Spring.