Sometimes when the evening's young

The wind dies down, the setting sun

Crochets the clouds with yarn so fine

And fills the oceans with red wine

The trees, the sky, the forest fair

Bring a flavor to the air

I raise my glass and in a while

You answer with a secret smile

Hold on, hold on to me

An airborne leaf that landed near

Has carried Dionysus here

He'll slip away but only when

He sees our glasses filled again