I think with each gray lolling day,
as I watch the gliding swallows,
next time when they fly away,
just maybe I should follow.

Here the trees aren't showing,
their inner blossoming souls.
Streams have slowed their flowing,
the fish have scattered their shoals.

An exotic tang is in the air,
as it floats out toward the wild.
It spices up the sky so fair,
and excites the Summer's child.

The dancing of the joyful sprites,
leaves bells twinkling on the wind,
away to the wild they flee the nights,
that have swallowed up their kin.

I'll follow the music of the bells,
away from this dismal place.
I'll go to where the fae ones dwell,
in everlasting golden peace.
 
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