Now are come the days of brown leaves They fall from the trees, They flutter on the ground When the brown leaves flutter They are saying little things They talk with the wind I hear them tell of their borning days When they did come into the world as leaves And they whisper of the hoods they wore then. I saw them I used to count them on my way to school Oday they were talking of the time Before their borning days of this Springtime They talked on and on And I did listen on to what they were telling The wind and the earth in their whisperings They told how they were apart of earth and air Before their tree-borning days And now they are going back To gray days of winter They go back to the earth again But they do not die And in the morning of today It was that I did listen to These talkings of the brown leaves These talkings of the brown leaves These talkings of the brown leaves