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 If I held in  hand,
 every grain of 
 Since  first began to be,
 
  I could never count,
 measure the amount,
 Of all the things  are to me,
 
 If I  paint the sky,
 hang it out  dry,
 I would want  sky to be
 
 Oh,such  grand design,
 an everlasting sign,
 Of all the things you are to 
 
  are the song
 that comes  summer winds,
 You are the falling 
 that autumn brings;
 You are the 
 and the mystery
 In everything I 
 the things  are to me.
 
 Sometimes,I  at night,
 suddenly take fright,
 You might be  fantasy,
 
 But then you reach for 
 and once again  see,
 All the things you are  me.
 
  are the song
 that comes  summer winds,
 You are the falling 
 that autumn brings;
  are the wonder
 and the mystery
 In everything I 
  things you are to me.
 
 You are  song
 that comes on  winds,
 You are the  year
 that autumn brings;
 You are  wonder
 and the mystery
 In everything I 
 the things  are to me.
 
  the things you are to me.