The cold wind gently blowing
The Autumn leaves
There bronze and orange colour as they
Gently touch the ground
Falling leaves yes there falling
From the old oak trees,

And they touch the ground softly
And gently and I'm watching them blow
All around and the little birds are
Singing so passionately
Up in the old oak tree,

And I'm sitting watching
The world go by as the
Autumn leaves fly by and there
Leaving the old oak tree
Flying high up in the
Clear blue sky there whispering goodbye.