[Verse 1] I’ve sown words on fertile ground, Watered them with sweat and tears, Fertilized them with dead dreams, They grew, flowered through the years. [Chorus] Alas, wisdom comes too late, I’ve surrendered to my fate. [Verse 2] A rich harvest I have reaped, Bushels full of dead, pressed leaves, In ashes of dreams well steeped, That others may thumb at ease. [Verse 3] They bring rewards and some joy, Will survive me, many years, And help others still to learn, Comfort that, as my end nears. [Chorus] Alas, wisdom comes too late, I’ve surrendered to my fate. Wish fewer words I had sown, Reaped fewer bushels of leaves, Chosen to sow other seeds, That into good souls would have grown. In a heartbeat I’d exchange, Bushels of books with my name, For a daughter of my own, To love, guide, support--ease my pain. [Chorus] Alas, wisdom comes too late, I’ve surrendered to my fate. [Bridge] Choices cannot be undone, Roads not taken beckon still, Still, death for me holds no fears, For dead leaves will shed no tears.
