Who was September To decide it was time To pull your pen from the page That drew out your line Since 1965? -Long before your time. May your fields be pure gold And yellow like the loveliest sun. May we hear your bones Singing at the top of their lungs. May all your fields be songs and daffodils. Oh, then November Would not be outdone And dimmed that bright old smile From an Ashland Son That burned since '78 -Then all at once faded away. May your fields be pure gold And yellow like the loveliest sun. May we hear your bones Sounding out the beat of a drum. May all your fields be songs and daffodils. I for one, hope you found your Sun Years And finally laid your eyes on some Spanish Dust. Your words fill up our Paper Dixie Cups, In a cheers to you, One of the few who knew love. So, may all your fields be pure gold And yellow like the loveliest sun. May we hear your bones Singing at the top of their lungs. May all your fields be songs and daffodils. May all your fields be songs and daffodils.