Russet Water of the Autumn Glade 

The Song of the Reddish Stream

Upon the fields so fresh and wide,
Where autumn’s golden banners gleam,
A stream in scarlet robes does glide,
And whispers low its fleeting dream.

The trees, in firelit splendor dressed,
Stand sentinel in bright array,
Yet though they shine, they know no rest,
For autumn soon must slip away.

Beyond the meadows, rising free,
The hills with crimson forests burn,
A land of fading majesty,
Where time shall turn, and none return.

So sing, O stream, thy song once more,
For winter knocks upon the door.