Man, these are beatiful, evocative lyrics by Johnny Mercer:
When an early autumn walks the land and chills the breeze
and touches with her hand the summer trees,
perhaps you’ll understand what memories I own.
There’s a dance pavilion in the rain all shuttered down,
a winding country lane all russet brown,
a frosty window pane shows me a town grown [...]
Posted on January 26th, 2010 by Scott Granneman
Filed under: art, language & literature | No Comments »
