And the dead leaves lie huddled and still
No longer blown hither and thither
The last lone aster is gone
The flowers of the witch hazel wither
The heart is still aching to seek
But the feet quesion "whither"
Ah, When to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of thing,
To yield with agrace to season
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season
Make a wish.... Make a wish....
For you.....the one I love
And last forever......