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
Colours 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