The sward swells where it lacks the green
Bears the dew where it does not, so-
An impression where a magpie had been,
And a squirrel’s trail’s left briskly low.
An October leaf falls in between,
Which way to go? Which way to go?
Her touch is gentle, soft yet weak.
The ground may not yield her call.
So to the blades of grass, it meets
Alas! They shall not let her move at all.
The winds must carry her to their beat.
And so an October leaf must fall.
So an October leaf must fall.
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