''Come, little leaves, '' said the wind one day,
''Come over the meadows with me and play.
Pit on your dresses of red and gold,
For summer is gone, and the days grow cold. ''
Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
Down they came fluttering one day all.
Over the brown field they danced and flew,
Singing the soft little songs they went;
Dancing and whirling ,the little leaves went;
Winter had called them, and they were content,
Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,
The snow laid a coverlet over their heads.
George Cooper