A young man's blood will race and sing
as life explodes into the spring,
the perfumed days pant madly by
till summer steels the tender sky.

It does no good to wish for rain
he'll fret and forge this restless pain
and sleep won't come all endless night
'til dawn's a glare of brassy light.

How long will his hot summer last?
'Til heartache joins the dusty past?
His youth torments him night and day
as inch by inch it slips away.

How slow at last the ache departs
of jobs that failed, of broken hearts.
The sky is pale, the air is thin
as damp gray Fall at last creeps in.

And now he has the dregs of hours
to scan sunsets and sniff the flowers
but sad dry stalks are all that wave
in winter's wind across his grave.