When the white eagle of the North is flying overheadThe browns, reds and golds of autumn lie in the gutter, deadRemember then, that summer birds with wings of fire flayingCome to witness spring’s new hope, born of leaves decayingAs new life will come from death, love will come at leisureLove of love, love of life and giving without measureGives in return a wondrous yearn of a promise almost seenLive hand-in-hand and together we’ll stand on the threshold of a dream
fullmoon