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)

Fly High

Free the bird from the gilded cage.

Let him fly in clear blue sky.

Don't let fear inhibit wings,

That were meant to fly on high.