A Fall Song by Ellen Robena Field

          Golden and red trees
          Nod to the soft breeze,
          As it whispers, "Winter is near;"
          And the brown nuts fall
          At the wind's loud call,
          For this is the Fall of the year.

          Good-by, sweet flowers!
          Through bright Summer hours
          You have filled our hearts with cheer
          We shall miss you so,
          And yet you must go,
          For this is the Fall of the year.

          Now the days grow cold,
          As the year grows old,
          And the meadows are brown and sere;
          Brave robin redbreast
          Has gone from his nest,
          For this is the Fall of the year.

          I do softly pray
          At the close of day,
          That the little children, so dear,
          May as purely grow
          As the fleecy snow
          That follows the Fall of the year.