Before the winter comes

How silently they tumble down 
And come to rest upon the ground 
To lay a carpet, rich and rare, 
Beneath the trees without a care, 
Content to sleep, their work well done, 
 Colors gleaming in the sun. 

At other times, they wildly fly 
Until they nearly reach the sky. 
Twisting, turning through the air 
Till all the trees stand stark and bare. 
Exhausted, drop to earth below 
To wait, like children, for the snow.
Elsie N. Brady, Leave 

Word Chimes


 

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