This  is  the  truning  of  the  year
The  final  scene  before  the  curtain  falls
The  squirrel  warm  within  his  bed  of  leaves
Can  not  hear  the  wind  that  blows  around  the  chimney  pots
Are  like  the  pilgrim  of  the  year  gone  by
He  sleeps
Once  he  was  a  young  man
Who  loved  in  the  spring
And  lay  beneath  the  upturn  sky  on  long  hot  summer  days
But  with  autume  he  grows  mellow
He  looks  over  his  shoulder  down  the  long  year  path  of  no  return
Already  he's  but  a  memory  fading  like  a  shadow  on  the  wall
But  time  with  restless  footsteps  hurries  by
And  now  beside  the  road
There  stands  the  pilgrim  of  the  year  to  be
Falling  leaves  turn  to  gold
Silver  flowers  on  my  window
Spirit  of  the  fading  year  gently  slips  away
He  knows  no  where
He  cannot  see
Naked  trees  in  the  sky
Stars  are  shinning  clear  and  cold
Minstrel  of  the  ages  sings  of  words  so  long  ago
That  age-old  tune  without  a  name
No  one  knows
In  the  white  falling  snow
The  pilgrim  travels  on
His  face  toward  the  sun
Beyond  the  open  road  he  travels  on
Pass  the  lamp  shinning  windows
Faces  by  the  fire
Before  the  midnight  hour
Christmas  time  has  come  around  again
Go  to  sleep  little  child
Go  to  sleep  little  child  you  shounldn't  be  awake
Go  to  sleep  little  child
Time  to  let  the  night  go  by
Waiting  for  the  sound  a  magic  sleigh
The  chimney  is  not  too  tall  they  say
Or  the  roof  too  high  for  a  reindeer  to  fly
No  not  too  high  for  a  reindeer  to  fly