There is a crisp chill in this changing wind,
As summer breathes its last and comes to an end,
As the sun dims the world seems to die
And a solemn tone touches the sky

As I meditate on this state of grave, lonely silence
I remember that this time brings nature to balance,
That winter-waiting will result in birth of spring
And once again the birds will come forth to sing

How beautiful to see this pattern replayed and repeated
And in my own life the pattern is completed
For as the seed must die before it gives,
So my own gasping frame must die before it lives