Broken boughs bend a-crippled in the sun;
All the weaving's come undone.
Needled arms hold a limp and faded line.
Do the shadows run on time?
Never mind, never mind.

Long ago when the green was in her eyes,
You could take me by surprise:
Say she'd grow rather distant in the end,
And we'd tremble, chip and bend
In the wind, in the wind.

Though the river of the rain
Carries sweetness for my brain,
On the stone I'm not well known
And now I'm growing lame.

"Take your time!", once I heard an old man say -
But I hurried anyway.
Thought it through and it seemed before too long
I was right and he was wrong;
I was young, j'etais jeune.  


By your leave, I will sing you one more time
Of my autumn in a rhyme;
For you see, I would have you understand -
Though his love got out of hand -
It was worth it in the end.
(repeat last two lines)

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