I sit here a singin',
 all perched in my tree,
 the words are not there,
 but the lyrics are free,
 a sweet morning song,
 to the pleasure of all,
 a cool and bright morning,
 New England in fall.
 The leaves are all parting,
 the days they grow short,
 the colors of Autumn;
 before Winter's retort,
 the splendor is there,
 for all to come see,
 won't you visit New England,
 and spend Autumn with me?

Poem Credits