down the wide, open road,
the pilgrim travels on
his face towards the sun
beyond the open road he travels on
and the waves steal the footprints
of the summer from the sand
beneath the silver moon
the north wind blows the falling leaves again
Around and around
All has nearly turned full circle
The warm lazy days of sunshine
And brown rivers
winding through the meadows
are a tale of yesterday
The pilgrim sighs
And draws his mantle close
about him in the smoky evening
He watches the leaves wither and fall
Frost has rimmed the pools with ice
And hung diamonds
in the spider's web
For this is the turning of the year
The final scene before the curtain falls
And now beside the road there stands
the pilgrim of the year to be
Falling leaves turn to gold
silver flowers on my window
spirit of the fading year,
he knows not where
he cannot say

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