The leaves are turnin',
another summer gone.
Soon no more baseball,
no more robins song.
The days flee fast,
on blue sky wind.
Soon harvest days,
our time will spend.
They go too fast,
these summer days.
As we grow older,
and so do our ways.
We rush too much,
and we fail to see,
the frail delight,
in a honey bee.
The joys of summer,
to soon gone,
we waste them following
moneies siren song.
We rush, we hurry,
our jobs; our lives.
Like so many drones,
in closed dark hives.
Look to the flowers,
they'll soon be gone.
Enjoy the warm days,
walk barefoot, a lawn.
Summer was made for us,
which we sometimes o'erlook.
When we lose summer joy,
youth is stolen, as if by crook.
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