Autums Song

The days are long, the nights are cold
Winter's not here and yet summer's old
And my bones, they're brittle – easily broke
But my heart is as warm as a fire just stoked

Gather 'round and eat up quick
Seven sets of grubby hands all reach for the stick
Of the drum of soup, which deep inside
Springs warmth and love of their mother's time

Mother's time
Mother's time
Mother's time

The leaves are shifting; there's movement in the air
Creatures sink back, some live without a care
And a porcupine sang a song to me
Whistled bristles through my ears and sent me to sleep

The rain is over, the wind is blown away
Warm amongst the animals I happily lay
A gentle word, by gentle folk
My love is a wheel and you are my spoke