By Lillie Belle Dimond
I want to go where the leaves are burning,
Burning in scarlet and gold;
The wind is up and my heart is turning
Again to the forest old.
I want to go where the leaves keep dropping,
Dropping in crimson and brown;
From dawn till dusk, not a moment stopping,
They are drifting, drifting down.
I want to go where the leaves are blowing,
Blowing in russet and red;
The brook like a voice, through the silence flowing,
Still whispers of summer dead.
Yet, why go back where the leaves are falling,
Falling again on the hill?
Tho woods await and the winds are calling
Thy voice is forever still.
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