If there ever was a time of year
for a man to mortally love,
Tis the time when the earth is blessed
with colors from above.

When the squirrels are playin' amongst the boughs
of the stoutest white oak trees,
and hickory cuttins litter the ground--
where the same have had their feast

You can hear em gnawin' before they're seen
as they cut a hickory nut through
they're well hidden in branches turnin gold--
or maybe a russet hue

Yes, the land is awash with the Creators paints,
who surely had us in mind,
that love to carry the longbow as we go
on trips way-back in time--

During moments when we un-mortal-ize
and sniff the freedom air,
and act as if for a little while
that we didn't have a care.

So look for me, ye lonesome ridge,
or ye creek bank in valley low,
Where the popples are turnin yellow--
like Gods own candle-glow.

And the sumac bush is radish red
but the pine is forever green,
and the maples billow in flames of orange,
who else could paint such a scene.

Yes, I'll be there as the evening sun
dips down toward the west,
My longbow carried by my side,
that's when life's at it's very best.