“Come, little leaves,“ said the wind one day,
“Come over the meadows with me, and play;
Put on your dresses of red and gold;
Summer is gone and the days grow cold.”
Soon as the leaves heard the wind’s loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all;
Over the meadows they danced and flew,
Singing the soft little songs they knew.
Dancing and flying the little leaves went;
Winter had called them and they were content –
Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,
The snow laid a soft mantle over their heads.
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