Marigold

When the marigold no longer blooms,

When summer sun has turned to gloom,

See the forecast winter snow,

See the evergreen that lonely grows.

Mood glows to the fireplace,

Neglect the garden, see the ground harden

At a ghostly pace.
 

The golden summer sun is silver now,

The fruit has fallen from the bough,

The season moves to chestnut time,

Toffee apples, treakle, and mulled wine.

Quilts and furs and woolens gay,

You wrap around you, but the cold confounds you

On an autumn day.
 

Stout and strong the walls of home and hearth,

The curtains drawn against the draft,

The grain is reaped, the blade is mown,

Nights go in to call the harvest home.

The quiet of a heart at rest,

In peaced abounded, by love surrounded,

Here the home is blessed.
(Traditionnel)