Once again the autumn leaves are falling,
Blown from their branches by the wind which squalling
Rushes through the trees and brings them down,
Swirling through the air, all yellow and brown,
Until the wind drops and they gently fall,
On pavements or pile up against a wall.
And all the trees have only branches left,
Looking stark and totally bereft.
But come the spring, and there is never a doubt,
That thousands of new leaves will start to sprout,
Another link in one continuous chain,
As trees move on from bare to green again.
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