It’s as if I’m always caught off guard
And the creeping up isn’t so much as scare.
I haven’t seen a ghost
And I try to be alert,
Maybe more like getting a return call
When I’m taking a nap.
I clear my throat,
Try to pull it together in a good couple of seconds
Before I say hello.
They always know.
And the leaves are turning golden
While I’m getting out of bed.
But while leaves always turn,
They always fall before too long.
So should my impressioned face
Upon a pillow slow me down
Or stop me from catching the cool.
The cedar door is open
Pulling in the harvest.
And the musk pervades my sense of smell
Causing me to turn and do something
About the best few weeks of the year.
When the sky is ne’r more blue.
I don’t just let my hair grow long and twirl it
Yeah, it’s funny, but it’s truth.
God, I want to live
And move like the wind.
If I had the season in my hands,
I’d have to say good bye
For it’s too strong
Too persistently onward and uncontainable.
Please, Autumn, where is my humiliation?
Show me little.
That’s what I need.
That’s what we all need.
And maybe you could contain me,
Along with the fruit of the harvest,
You see worth to keep in my broken being.
I might find peace behind the old cedar doors
If you just hold on to me.
Would you just hold on to me?