The woods are full of fallen leaves
© 1968 by Jim Andris
The woods are full of fallen leaves,
The earth to fertile foliage cleaves,
And once again my God aggrieves my soul.
How often must I tread the path
Of autumn's dismal aftermath?
'Tis death to life that winter's wrath must toll.
O, coldest season of the year,
I find your weathers too severe.
Yet others your austere career extol.
And yet I grant you this one thing:
Without you, there could be no spring,
and summer's glory never could unfold.
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