"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 winds loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all;
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the soft little songs they knew.
Dancing and whirling the little leaves went,
Winter had called them and they were content,
Soon fast asleep in their earthly beds,
The snow laid a soft mantle over their heads.