I could live in Autumn all year ’round
(Thought strange, for I was born a Summer’s child)
And dance down falls of yellow leaves
Cheering pyres of ripened colour.
No callow cloak of green for me
(Stripling’s garb, for them alone to wear)
But costume of a brighter hue
Is what for mine I’d claim.
The flame of harvest home I bring
(More welcome than the Solstice sun)
Torch of the seed that waits within
Bairn of corn and common.