Smith, Effie Waller
|SONGS OF THE MONTHS.|
Softly, lightly, leaves flutter down,
Crimson, scarlet, gold and brown;
Fluttering and whirling through the air,
Leaving the branches brown and bare.
Frosty now the mornings grow;
In hedges are sumac berries, I know;
The golden-rod with modest pride
Still beautifies the dusty road-side.
Apples are gathered and stored away
In th' apple-house for a winter day
Potatoes are out and in the cellar,
With the pumpkins bright and yellow.
Now the katydids are calling,
And the nuts are ripe and falling;
Wood-grapes all are ripe and blue,
And persimmons rip'ning too.
And in the stubble field land
Brown and withered shocks of corn stand,
Where crickets chirrup loud and clear,
Telling us that winter's near.