The sun comes up on hay bales in the field.
The regal trees stand by in their estate,
As summer turns to autumn on the lea,
And all that lives must join in on the wait.

For what must come will come, and ever so;
The seasons – screaming, crawling – come and go,
As you and I and all of us have found;
To this one earth’s totality we’re bound.

So morning has it’s time, as do we all —
Like summer days that tremble ere
The fall