And to Each Season - Rod McKuen

And to each season something is special

lilac, red rose or the white willow.

Young men of fortune old men forgotten

green buds renewing

the brown leaves dead and gone.

Spring and the lilacs

pale white and lavender

fill up the room of my gone mother.

And when the cat springs on to the window ledge

his only greeting is the silence and the rain.

And to each season something is special

lilac, red rose or the white willow.

Young men of fortune old men forgotten

green buds renewing

the brown leaves dead and gone.

Deep down in autumn all of the brown leaves

fall on the garden and cover up the lawn.

Let us remember each year in turn then

when there was sun enough to cover up the wrong.

And to each season something is special

lilac, red rose or the white willow.

Young men of fortune old men forgotten

green buds renewing

the brown leaves dead and gone.

Roses in summer climb up the stone wall

playing with sunlight and the morning shadows.

Petals as firm as the young men’s striding

pants filled with love hearts filled with longing.

Welcome the winter robed in its whiteness

bending down the willow with it’s snow blankets.

And the wild berries hidden in the wood now

from all the creatures lost in the darkness.

And to each season something is special

lilac, red rose or the white willow.

Young men of fortune old men forgotten

green buds renewing

the brown leaves dead and gone.

Welcome the winter robed in its whiteness

bending down the willows with it’s snow blankets.

And all the wild berries hidden in the wood now

from the creatures lost in the darkness.

Old men forgotten leave to me something

for I’ve no family now but that of man.

Tell all the young men passing in the lanes now

soon I’ll be coming down to take my place with them.

And to each season something is special

lilac, red rose or the white willow.