Where I was born time was told,
Not by the clock nor the calendar,
But by the seasons.
Summer was carefree contentment,
Autumn was that bittersweet time of regret,
And then Winter fell with a cold mantle of caution and chill.
Spring was promise,
But there was a fifth season,
Of love, and only the wise knew where to find it!
They say that the seasons are four,
They come and they go by my door;
From April's first rose
To the day that it snows,
Same moon is smiling above.
They say that the seasons are four,
But you and I know there are more!
And best of them all
Is the one that we call
The wonderful season of love!
They say that the seasons are four,
But you and I know there are more!
And best of them all
Is the one that we call
The wonderful season of love!