Who was September
To decide it was time
To pull your pen from the page

That drew out your line
Since 1965?
-Long before your time.


May your fields be pure gold
And yellow like the loveliest sun.

May we hear your bones
Singing at the top of their lungs.
May all your fields be songs and daffodils.


Oh, then November
Would not be outdone

And dimmed that bright old smile
From an Ashland Son
That burned since '78

-Then all at once faded away.

May your fields be pure gold

And yellow like the loveliest sun.
May we hear your bones
Sounding out the beat of a drum.

May all your fields be songs and daffodils.

I for one, hope you found your Sun Years

And finally laid your eyes on some Spanish Dust.
Your words fill up our Paper Dixie Cups,
In a cheers to you,

One of the few who knew love.

So, may all your fields be pure gold

And yellow like the loveliest sun.
May we hear your bones
Singing at the top of their lungs.

May all your fields be songs and daffodils.

May all your fields be songs and daffodils.