The leaves, they fall from the standing trees,

Birds In the sky fly, short are their lives.

A boy and girl holding hands In the dark,

An Image In time as they become man and woman.

Seasons of four change through the year,

Love has a season, sometimes a lifetime.

The nights are always dark, a still quiet,

Just as the day Is light, the world Is alive.

Summers with friends often come to their end,

Time marches on, that’s the way It Is.

Fly away little bird, animals run till they’re done,

A son, a daughter go away with the setting sun.

The way It Is, just the way It Is,

We’re born to die, someday too touch the sky.

Keith Garrett