Leaves

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.

by Elsie N. Brady