The forest is a gallery
Where autumn blithe comes painting
With sweeping stride the countryside
And finds me there escaping

Summer wanes, my passion breathes
For northern oak and maple leaves
As red as life that pulses new within me

Verdure flutters from the trees
Like amber floating on the breeze
There never lived an artist so elating!

Shall not we wish eternity
Upon this forest gallery
While autumn still upon the earth is painting?

Let fall and winter never meet
When gold dust stirs beneath my feet
May time stand still
Before the trees are empty


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