We stroll along a never ending lane

with turning seasons full of our regret

Of warmer, simpler, happy times and yet

The footsteps of our hearts will still remain

We witness how the browning, withered leaves

Let loose in whirling oaken tears, each one

a wayward memory of the missing years

Wherein a storyteller wroughts and weaves

As human beings we lament for time

we never ever seem to have enough

but that’s because we never stop to watch

When autumn suns have lost in you their shine

I pray that on yourself you won’t be tough

so warm yourself with memory, and scotch