AUTUMN LEAVES.
The autumn leaves are like our lives,They serve their purpose for a day,They then return to mother Earth:They come but to decay.The trees are gaunt, gaunt sentinels,Deprived of their warm dress.They shiver in their nakedness,And moan in their distress.But, as with us, they live again,Again have garments fresh and new,And though they seem to die to earth,Again their lives renew.Again the joy of living comes,And brighter now is their new life;They had a season of sweet sleep,And rest from worldly strife.
The autumn leaves are like our lives,They serve their purpose for a day,They then return to mother Earth:They come but to decay.The trees are gaunt, gaunt sentinels,Deprived of their warm dress.They shiver in their nakedness,And moan in their distress.But, as with us, they live again,Again have garments fresh and new,And though they seem to die to earth,Again their lives renew.Again the joy of living comes,And brighter now is their new life;They had a season of sweet sleep,And rest from worldly strife.