The leaves fall slowly from the trees And everybody walks on them: Once they had a time of ease In limpid air, and bird and breeze Stayed a while to talk with them. Bright they were, and debonair As they fluttered up and down; Dancing in the sunny air, Dancing without knowing there Was a gutter in a town. Now they have no place at all! All the home that they can find Is a gutter by a wall; And the wind that waits their fall Is an apache of a wind. |