Upon a log along a lake, I find myself one day
And through the gray misty fog the sun finds its way
It's early yet, though the day has risen,
A crimson beam can be seen, along the horizon
Birds so high, they cry for spring
I listen-forgetting the fall and winter
Behind me now, the cold aside,
How fine I feel in the warm crisp air
All the time to spare, I inhale the senses
So luscious, bushes surround the lake's edge
A nearby stream trickles, the running water
Call me, stall the nerves beneath my skin
The sensation, intoxicating, like gin, the wind passes

A fair rabbit dashes through the undergrowth,
I loathe the thought of leaving, the lake's edge
Time is not a matter to be concerned with,
Life could be but a myth, little I care
For along the lake's edge, I have all the time to spare