(Sophie)

 

"Come, little leaves," said the Wind one day.
"Come over the meadows with me and play;

Put on your dresses of red and gold,

For summer is gone and the days grow cold."

Dancing and whirling the little leaves went,

Winter had called them, and they were content,

Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,

The snow laid a soft mantle over their heads.

("Come, Little Leaves" by George Cooper)