Leaves of green and yellow,
Turn to red, orange and gold.
There’s no room for summer,
In the fall.
As the year begins to close,
A silent shadow grows,
Into winter’s heart I’ll go,
From the fall.
In the springtime there was rain,
But it’s never quite the same,
As the cold, stinging fingers,
Of the fall.
How the summer sun burned bright,
With the most amazing light,
But all the past means nothing,
At the fall.
The gutters choked with rain,
Flowing quickly down the drain,
All our dreams look the same,
To the fall.
The world I’ve searched in vain,
For an answer all quite plain,
In the end we’re all the same,
In the fall.
ic2olney 