When the White Eagle of the north is flying overhead,
And the browns, reds and golds of autumn lie in gutter dead,
Remember then, the summer birds with wings of fire flaying,
Come to witness spring's new hope, born of leaves decaying.
As new life will come from death,
Love will come at leisure,
Love of love, love of life,
And giving without measure,
Gives in return, a wonderous yearn
Of a promise almost seen,
Live hand in hand, and together
We'll stand on the threshold of a dream.
