Lyrics

When trees are turning, chimney smoke is curling
Fallen leaves are swirling, I’ll be coming home
When geese are wending, apple branches bending
When the summer’s ending, I’ll be coming home

When Autumn’s first frost glistens on the corn stalks
Bales of hay and sweet squash, I’ll be coming home
And hill and meadow are crimson, rust and yellow
The fruits of August mellow, I’ll be coming home

And rest will greet me, Love will receive me
joy, like a deep red wine fill my heart

I have been trodding the furrowed fields of summer
Footsteps heavy, under, the seeds I’ve come to sow
When some have sprouted, and I have hoped and doubted
And every bushel’s counted, I’ll be coming home

And rest will greet me, Love will receive me
joy, like a deep red wine fill my heart

Nights will be cold then, foxes in their holes then
Skies awaiting snow when I’ll be coming home
When hearths are burning, tables set with sterling
I will be returning, I’ll be coming home

And rest will greet me, Love will receive me
joy, like a deep red wine fill my heart

© 2002 Peter Mayer