Glinting a shade of amber,
On the boundary of gold,
Eyes fixate at summer rays,
The last ones bright and bold.
Feet dig deep in golden ground,
Hands carve onto sand,
The wind whistles in ears both,
And drops dead to the land.
The summer sun will always set,
The wind will always die,
Does not mean winter will not,
For it always passes by.
An ebbing tide will surely rise,
And castles of sand will fall,
But a rising tide will also ebb,
And sand will stand back tall.
What goes will always come again,
What comes will surely be gone,
If good times are to die today,
Tomorrow they’ll be born!