Asura Slider

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run

Golden and red trees
Nod to the soft breeze,
As it whispers, "Winter is near;"
And the brown nuts fall
At the wind's loud call,
For this is the Fall of the year.

Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!

Golden and red trees
Nod to the soft breeze,
As it whispers, "Winter is near;"
And the brown nuts fall
At the wind's loud call,
For this is the Fall of the year.

Autumn leaves from the treetops,
Fletter down to the ground,
When the wind blows his trumpet,
See them whirling around.

Golden and red trees
Nod to the soft breeze,
As it whispers, "Winter is near;"
And the brown nuts fall
At the wind's loud call,
For this is the Fall of the year.

I fly through the tree tops
Gliding as lightly as falling autumn leaves
I cross stitch a pattern to the immense cloth known as the sky
My four wings flap simultaneously
A grid of beauty
I am a flock of colors
All joined together to make one flying machine
I am a butterfly

I know a little country place
Where still my heart doth linger,
And o'er its fields is every grace
Lined out by memory's finger.
Back from the lane where poplars grew
And aspens quake and quiver,
There stands all bath'd in summer's glow
A farm house by the river.

follows the river as it bends
along the valley floor,
going the way it must.
Where water goes, so goes the road