now no one swings where once young voices rang
beneath a tree that lost its leafy shield
the sun goes down, the snow’s left its meringue
as cold and dark descends upon the field

i still recall the two of them out there
when young love had its day (it always does)
but now there’s nothing left, the field is bare
and few there are who knew it as it was

somewhere, i’m sure, young lovers are in joy
it is not here, but out there, nonetheless
for while there are yet someplace girl and boy
the voices still are heard, in liveliness

that’s there: out here, it’s still and smooth as glass
and there’s just one who mourns
that all things
pass