Fairy mist on a meadow burned by the rising sun;
A bluebell wood wending to places I used to know.
These are the things I recall when my day is run,
And the solace I cling to when my spirit is low.
For the low winter sunrise in the eastern sky;
Is but a flicker of time in this life of mine:
And each moment that I live goes flying by:
So I pause awhile to savour the fleeing time.
For the warm afternoons of a hot August day;
And the crackle of frost in the cold before dawn;
Are diamonds that I treasure while they slide away;
As the sun breathes fresh hope into this new morn.
The bright red berries that cling to the vine;
Are memories long buried in yesterday passed;
That spring unbidden to the fore of my mind,
Time moves slow and yet slips by so fast.
The silence of the purple sky on a summer’s eve;
And the swelter of the scorching noonday sun;
Each day of my life it’s fabric to weave;
These things I’ll recall when my time is done.