That summer was hot, and full of gold,

glistening on the leaves of oakwoods bold.

The twilight mists of sleepless nights,

would only dispers, as the dawns came to lights.

The songs of birds the night defied,

they sang their songs to find their brides.

With whom to leave for southern lands,

with whom to make their autumn plans.

But I am left alone once more,

no mate, no song, no southern shore.

The summer is gone, but the memory remains,

of summer girls before autumn rains.