Thrice marks the passing time of this day, tick, ticking, tock.
Thrice marks the park rangers falling blade, chop, chopping, chop.
Thrice marks that street light glowing near, green, yellow, stop.
As thrice marks a man fishing here, reeling, casting, plop.
Thrice marks a fearful dog that's close, bark, barking, bark.
Thrice marks this lonely birds sorrows, whistling in the park.
Thrice marks the blowing wind up high, now dancing with the trees.
As thrice marks when hungry squirrels run by, searching in the leaves.
Thrice marks a blissful mood that grows, rapped in autumn's purple haze.
Thrice marks sweet nothings, flirting shows, as I shower her with praise.
Thrice marks three words, we all might hear, though for me it's ever so true.
As thrice marks my desire to let her know, until I blurt out "I Love You"
Thrice marks the fairest girl of my dreams, on this bench embracing me.
Thrice marks her loving eyes, that show, what's only meant for me to see.
Thrice marks this tender kiss we share, lips warm, so moist, and plump.
As thrice marks our loving hearts that now beat, thump, thumping, thump.