Come Little Leaves

"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.

American poet George Cooper (1838–1927)