The leaves are turning gold, And love is turning new. Two hearts that weathered years, Now find their morning dew. The season’s late, yet bright, The harvest moon above. Time has ripened every dream, And crowned it all with love. No rush, no fleeting flame, Just steady hands and grace. A late‑season marriage blooms, In its rightful place. A late-season marriage blooms, (A late-season marriage blooms.)
