Summer is gone, lost, perhaps never was
Days end too soon, the moon is large and low
Machines crawl through fields, reaping what was sown;
Time to count your blessings, catalog them carefully,
And store them away to last the winter.
Barefoot days, careless, sand between toes
Sun on sea and flash of smile,
Something we knew but couldn't say.
Days end too soon, the moon is large and low
Summer is gone, lost, perhaps never was.