this is the deed that falls out of my hand
your heart is open now to all our care
a touch of autumn comes upon the air
there is so little that we could demand
we look at nature and think it all grand
but know that not a thing is ever fair
that simple action is more than we dare
and each of us is forced to take a stand
my thought is open to whatever makes
sense in the morning when we first arise
to see the world fullest impure glory
not caring about all the shocks and aches
that keep us from the truest golden prize
or so we seem to tell that final story
