Music is drifting
Over the fields at dusk
Seems as if the pines are dripping
With a cedar-woodland musk.
The Music's voice is sweet and sad
As it floats on evening wind
Seems like Summer's pining-
It's waiting for the end.
That's what an August evening is:
A sign the end is near
Its Music's strangely beautiful,
Yet saddening to hear.
The Music's melting into mist
Dissolving into haze
Soon I'll say my sweet goodbyes
To simple Summer days.
This green is slowly fading
To a dingy Autumn red
Soon the Music's voice will stop.
.and Summer will be dead.