When the autumn months are calling,
Leaves from up on high are falling.
Landing softly on the ground
Without a shudder or a sound.
But if I were a bug or bee
And if a leaf should land on me
Would I be hurt, or in a pickle?
Or would that leaf provide a tickle?
Through March and April and into May
Leaves are falling by the day.
Mother Nature’s voice has called,
The trees seem to be going bald.
In my backyard beneath the sky
Leaves of many colours lie.
Maple leaves and sycamores;
Gum leaves too: there’s leaves galore.
While the soil is far from hardened
I rake some leaves onto my garden,
Making many a compost heap,
Where all the worms and snails sleep.
So if you’re rolling up your sleeves
Please admire the falling leaves.
Pick one up from off the clover:
Go on and turn a new leaf over.