It Is Not

And when the blazing disc of sun
descends in crimson autumn sky
below the rolling, grassy hills
it is not the end, it is not the end

And when the cool clear evening breeze
sweeps across restful warm soils
and chills the flowers in to night
it is not the end, it is not the end

And when the tears are cried and done
lost in the dust and gravel
no tears ever made fertile ground
it is not the end, it is not the end

For when the earth has settled in
and new green growth is started
the once bare patch a testament
it is not the end, it is not the end