Come with me, my friend, and see the storied hills: 
 For autumn’s full of love, and so are we, 
 We restless searchers as we wander on 
 Past strands of summer, cobwebs on our hearts. 

In setting out, we come to know what’s setting in: 
 The furniture we’ve moved, the mental flummery 
 We use in place of seeing more, or differently, 
 When width, and height, and depth are what we need 

To find our place. Let others bring their pretext, 
 And their subtext, and their fables, we 
 Must find our context in reality — 
 So let no voice escape your lips but yours. 

The winter always comes, and yet 
 We feign surprise, as though 
 The dwindling of our stanzas 
 Is unique, 

So come and see how autumn 
 On the hills of who you are 
 Speaks freedom, peace, 
 And love 

To those who’ll hear