A crisp breeze dances off the branches of the mighty ash,
A cool breath from the heavens above,
Descending down to the rushing river below,
Cooling the tempers of the passers-by.
Where they have come from, passions soar,
Like a hot August day,
Overripe with the heat of summer,
As they walk, that feeling fades,
And the fresh breeze of autumn takes hold,
That cool cleansing clarity overtakes them,
And they follow the river as it rushes on.