  "My leaves are turning crimson," the giant oak tree said, "It's almost time these children should seek their winter's bed, But how they still cling to me and gleam with crimson hue, They truly are more lovely than cirrus clouds of blue. "And now throughout the forest—list! hear their voices ring, But 'tis in tones of sadness and sighing they now sing— 'Alas! 'tis gone, fair summer, and winter's reign is near, He cruelly strips the forest of all her summer cheer By killing all her lovely leaves and likewise flowers gay |
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