I love the crunch of the withered leaves
And all their colors
That brighten the dark gray days
As the cold wind billows
What’s left of the leaves
I haven’t crushed
As my spirits soar
To the sound of the leaves
Before winter comes.
I love the crunch of the withered leaves
And all their colors
That brighten the dark gray days
As the cold wind billows
What’s left of the leaves
I haven’t crushed
As my spirits soar
To the sound of the leaves
Before winter comes.