"Come little leaves," said the wind one day,
"Come o'er the meadows with me and play;
Put on your dress 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 brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the soft little songs that 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 coverlet over their heads.
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