Could I return from far away,
to snow forts where the young boys play.
Where school let out for half a day,
to hear what words the priest might say.
The fall felled leaves red, gold, and brown,
lay heaped in piles upon the ground.
In spring I’d hear the happy sound
of schoolgirls ring the Maypole round.
Might I return there once again,
where summer sun my strength would drain.
From all my labor I’d refrain,
until the streets filled up with rain.
Though I have traveled far of late,
I still remember New York State.