In summertime the trees are full of song
and under golden rays I do belong,
like finding once again my long-lost ball
the target now before the nightly fall
to see again her dancing down the lane
and hold her hands as lovers always do
exuberantly,
I chase her down like many done before
but fall upon her swaying skirt a fool,
a girl no longer wanting to see me
I dream about tomorrow’s trees in song.
