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 sun 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 and suddenly take fright, You might be just fantasy, But when you reach for me, and once again I see, Of all the things you are to me. You are the sun 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 sun 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.