"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."
- Elsie N. Brady, Leaves
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