The pleasure of these autumn days
Is the glory of nature when we gaze
At the trees of beauty everywhere,
A sight so glorious, so fair.
But soon the leaves drift slowly down,
Gold and orange, red and brown.
What delight to walk in a woodland glade
Where trees in summer give welcome shade.
In the green tops many birds will perch
Among leaves of beech, sycamore, oak and birch.
Lovely then but soon leaf mould,
Red and orange, brown and gold.
The leaves are down, the trees are bare,
The birds have little shelter there.
The canopies now lie on the ground,
Like a colourful carpet all around.
Brown and orange, gold and red,
And the trees are sleeping: they’re not dead.