The Golden Grove

The golden grove is silent, It has had its say. And its amusing Jolly burgeon tone. The cranes fly sadly over it Upon their way. But they leave everyone behind without a Pain. But who is everyone? Wayfarers in this world. We come into our home and leave it all Too soon. And all those who are gone are dream Lyrical. Like the satin field And the white foam Moan. I stand alone amid The emptiness and skyward gates. The wind is carrying the flocks of cranes, Of course. I'm full of memories about my Younger days. But nothing makes me feel Any remorse. I think without regret of all the years I Squandered. And of the lilac time of my poor Soul. The fire's burning in the garden, It's a-roaring. But it can warm no one because the flames Are cold. The berry clusters by it won't get Scorched. The yellow nest will ne'er prevent no grass from Growing. I stand alone and drop these melancholy Words. Just as a tree will drop its leaves In autumn. Yeah, but the wind in time will Sweep them all one day. Into a pile of rubbish only fit to burn. Just say the golden grove is Silent, it has had its say. And its sweet-sounding jolly burgeon Tone. And its sweet-sounding, lovely, Beautiful jolly burgeon tone. And its Sweet-sounding Jolly, Jolly burgeon tone. Oh yeah