The Last of the Summer Wine by Julian Pratt

The last of the summer wine,
The sweet bouquet of memories,
Of you and I, as time goes by,
I still remember these.

The last of the summer wine,
When passing shadows still recur,
Of golden days, so young in love,
And that's the way we were.

We had our dreams,
To change the world, As people will,
But now we're known as the folk,
Who live on the hill.

The last of the summer wine,
A vintage love, a vintage brew,
And now my love this toast I give,
Thank you for being you.