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