The Things You Are To Me

If I held in my hand, every grain of sand, Since time first began to be, Still, I could never count, measure the amount, Of all the things you are to me, If I could paint the sky, hang it out to dry, I would want the sky to be Oh,such a grand design, an everlasting sign, Of all the things you are to me. You are the song that comes on summer winds, You are the falling year that autumn brings; You are the wonder and the mystery In everything I see the things you are to me. Sometimes,I wake at night, suddenly take fright, You might be just fantasy, But then you reach for me and once again I see, All the things you are to me. You are the song that comes on summer winds, You are the falling year that autumn brings; You are the wonder and the mystery In everything I see the things you are to me. You are the song that comes on summer winds, You are the falling year that autumn brings; You are the wonder and the mystery In everything I see the things you are to me. All the things you are to me.