Watching raindrops,
wondering where they go,
making footsteps in
the early morning snow,
that melts away beneath
the sun's pale call;
no trace, no trace
is left at all.

Counted moments,
heartbeats slipping by,
time measured by the silver
moon that lights the sky,
that like each little
star, must fall;
no trace, no trace
is left at all.

And all day long the children play,
so happy in their summer ways;
uncaring of the burdened soul,
that day on day hath quietly stole
the magic from a world beyond
the office and the factory floor;
barefoot they dance beneath the fleeting sun
before sweet youth's escape is done.