Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on.
Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on.
Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories