The Herons - Angelo Branduardi

And now when the earth has stooped to gather

In the careful hands of autumn

All that summer has abandoned

A time of left behind…

Comes a wind that blows unceasing

Erodes away the dunes

On grey moon hungry beaches

Where the winter crows parading

Cry out in black formation

Their scorn upon the world

Everturning…

And there where the fruit no longer ripens

On the vines the years have withered

Has the earth so soon forgotten

That not so long ago

How the wind was soft and perfumed

How the herons turned and circled

With their wings aflame with sunset…

Now the winter crows parading

Cry out in black formation

Their scorn upon the world

Everchanging…