The leaves on the trees turning from yellow to brown
With a stiff wind soon on the ground
Rustling, rustling,
A pile  of leaves so neatly collected
Beckoning me so they're not neglected
Rustling, rustling,
I jump I jump so gleefully
In a daze of joy so peacefully
To which I must admit this practice I adore
Now the leaves askew and beckoning no more
Until next year my beautiful foes
Rustling, rustling, as the wind blows

The mountain aglow with the autumn sun
Reflections of red, yellow and gold a spun
Mist on the lake like kisses goodnight
Look to the sky as geese take flight
The beauty is there for your eyes to behold
Take it all in as nature unfolds

Boats ******* to trees with chains and rope
The lake whispers with its last summer's breath
Will the winter be kind to the lake and trail
Wait, wait, wait,
Until the warmth of another spring
Wait, wait, wait,,
For the next adventure that summer will bring

s. willmore