When tiny stars do dot the sky
And red-eyed jets go blinking by,
When autumn air is icey chill
And rusty leaves are falling still,
Then time is ours to stay outside
And dance the dance of loving pride.
A waltz, a waltz, a waltz we do,
And then, a little tapping, too;
We crunch the leaves with happy feet
And never miss, or skip, a beat.
I whirl you round above the ground,
And so you sail without a sound.
Then out into the street we go—
A quiet street, no traffic flow—
While from a window, high above,
A rumba comes, with rumba love.
The tiny stars still dot the sky,
The red-eyed jets go blinking by,
The autumn air has lost its chill,
For we are warm with dancing thrill.
And now we stop and look about;
A dozen windows cheer and shout!
Then heads appear, applause begins,
And some are beating metal tins!
Ha ha! We laugh, and then we kiss;
The time for joy is ne’er a-miss;
And as to home we skip along
We fill the air with summer song!