And once again the days hum with the whirr and drone of Summer,
The air is warm as honey and the trees are thick with leaves.
The fields are brimming over with the buttercup and clover,
And the night steals past the full moon, and the days slip by like thieves.

The days of Springtime seem to be a dream I had in passing.
The little birds have nested, and the blossom it is blown.
The days are getting longer, and the light is growing stronger,
But the Summer of my lifetime, and my birds, are almost flown.

The bindweed and the wild rose, in the evening light the wayside.
The honeysuckle climbs the hedge, it's scent is all around.
But even as it blooms you know, a flower begins to die, 
It turns from sun and sinks to lie down, for the long sleep underground.

And once again the days hum with the whirr and drone of Summer,
The air is warm as honey and the trees are thick with leaves.
The fields are brimming over with the buttercup and clover,
And the night steals past the full moon, and the days slip by like thieves.
Miggy Campbell