Sing to the summer, the season of warmth, the sun and the fruit in the fields;
But welcome the autumn, the fall of the leaves, the artist of colour and change.
In red and golden leaves it paints, in cold and starry sky,
In fiery grass and flaming fruits, in misty fingers grey.
The winds it calls from east and west, from north and southern plains,
The clouds it shepherds to its will, bright sun and early rains.
The eastern wind sings of the plains, of rolling hills and peaks,
From west the wind of shores beyond the greatest ocean speaks.
From southern lands, dust hides the sun, a veil of red and gold,
Against its warmth, the north wind sets its unrelenting cold.
And here they meet - dance on the plains, brush hills and purple heath,
Wrap mountains in grey cloudy hoods; call mists from vales beneath.
Then in the night, disperse the clouds, make stars shine cold and bright;
Breathe frost on early morning's grass, to flee with sun's first light.
There in the morning sun the mists rise up and fly away,
To leave the day more clear and bright than summer's brightest day.
Then autumn shows its fairest garb; in red and purple hues,
In golden leaves and scarlet vines, in shadows' deepest blues.
Up where the vinyards hug the hills, green bands and golden lines,
The harvesters take home the fruit from overflowing vines.
And in the vales, the fields burn gold, laden with fruit the boughs,
Smoke rises from the hearths and fires as songs rise from our throats.
And wreathed in gold the birches stand framing the forest eaves,
Then next, the beeches send afly their red and copper leaves.
Between them maples, bright and tall in shining scarlet cloaks,
And in the forest's deeper reach, yellow on black the oaks.
So change comes to the forest, from the outside to within:
On softened ground the leaves fall, the forest's roof grows thin.
Deep in its heart, where shadows linger and no footsteps fall,
Resisting change to bitter last, the dark green pines stand tall.
So sing to autumn, and sing to the change, the trees and the fruit and the winds;
And praise it as praise it deserves in its right, as season in nature's great dance.