Читать книгу Graded Memory Selections - Various - Страница 11

“Come, little leaves,” said the wind one day;

“Come over the meadows with me, and play,

Put on your dresses of red and gold,

Summer is gone and the days grow cold.”

Soon the leaves heard the wind’s loud call,

Down they fell fluttering, one and all.

Over the brown fields they danced and flew,

Singing the soft little songs they knew.

Dancing and flying, the little leaves went;

Winter had called them, and they were content.

Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds,

The snow laid a white blanket over their heads.