The banks are soft beside the creek,
A silent autumn day;
I wander, as the leaves blow by,
And make my hopeful way

The autumn chills me slightly, but
I’m warm beneath these clothes:
And if my love is waiting? Well,
That autumn only knows

November meals of warm-and-gold,
They’re calling once again;
As I retrace the hidden steps
To everywhere I’ve been

This creek is a Thanksgiving,
And I ask it, as it flows:
How many more Novembers? Well,
That autumn only knows

I walk till dying of the day,
My legs are weak and sore;
I leave the woods and creek behind
My wet clothes on the floor

Within a bath, a glass of wine,
My tired eyes I close;
The winter finally comes, but when —
That autumn only
Knows