Bronze was the lake in the fall
Leaves from the trees covered all
The green summer's grass
Stomped in a path
And overgrown five inches tall.
The tire swing shook in the breeze
With no one to push from the trees
We snuck in the glade, and squeezed lemonade
From old man Witherspoon's trees.
Then the runaways and tramps went on with their dance
They hid till the tourists pulled off their white pants.
We skipped with a laugh as we followed their path
That led behind yards we thought had fronts but never had backs.
We watched with our breath held inside
Every so often we could see where they'd hide
A branch wasn't shook by the breeze.
If it offered a hand down the climb up the trees.
We're runaways, tramps, can I ask for a dance?
With no one to see what fools are we.
We'll stay through October, when the winter gets colder.
I'll make you a sweater from the fallen leaves.
We swore we'd never leave, made a wish on a breeze,
An old lovers' pact we'd never go back.
We strolled up Winter Hill, till our lips felt the chill
And longed to be back by the warmth of the electric bill.
Now I recall with a frown,
the mountain we never slid down
that flows to the pond where the tire swing's gone
Cause somebody cut it down.
The lake is unfroze, the girls show their toes
To our unending jinx next to bankers and shrinks.
Their daughters all smiled as they kicked off their shoes
And not one of them missed us the whole winter through.
