Oh, it’s a long, long while from May to December, but the days grow short when you reach September. When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame, one hasn′t got time for the waiting game.
Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few: September, November. And these few precious days, I’ll spend with you. These precious days I’ll spend with you.
Writers Kurt Weill and Maxwell Anderson wrote these haunting words in 1938, eight years before I was born. The days do grow short in September, more precious with each passing year. I choose to spend them with you…
I'll Call It Like I See It 