There are woods and reeds and ferns and river
and falling leaves and flaming colour
and Autumn, bright as a dying fire,
calling out to the sleeking otter.
There are swallows flying South for the Winter
and air that's crisp and a sky that's colder
and tales to be told of a day's adventure,
brighter than all the days of Summer.
Scurrying, hurrying, scampering, diving
out of the trees and into the water
that's rushing, bursting, bubbling, tumbling,
turning the head of the sleeking otter.
Taking the flow of the beautiful river,
watching the sky as it changes colour
and sunset, bright as a dying fire
turns the way home for the wandering otter.