Each autumn they come calling
and threaten to remain.
It really is appalling
to hear their old refrain:
All would be clear,
and cares would never haunt,
if we lived here,
somewhere in Vermont.
Life’s likely to go better,
sighs the city chorus,
lived in a homespun sweater
closer to the forest.
The world we know
is too much to confront.
It’s time to go
somewhere in Vermont.
Perhaps it is this season
of blazing death and frost,
and spring’s eternal treason,
that has us count the cost.
Life’s a bargain
you can’t afford to flaunt,
on sale again
somewhere in Vermont.
It’s no difference if they come –
unless I’m very wrong –
given what they’re running from,
they won’t be here for long.
Where skies are blue,
and life is free from want,
So you come too,
somewhere in Vermont.
