In Autumn when the leaves turn brown
And red and gold, they all fall down.
To paint a picture, oh so rare!
I know that God is there...

To mastermind His ebb and flow;
To stage His wondrous Autumn show,
To brush His skies with molten gold;
I watch His art unfold.

No grander sight could I behold:
These leaves of brown and red and gold.
But Winter bodes its icy chills
Upon the snow-clad hills.

In time the land, a living scene,
Comes bursting forth in savage green;
And I confront the season's thieves
That took my Autumn leaves.

But soon a softness in the air!
God paints a picture, oh so rare
Of Autumn leaves that all turn brown
And red and gold as they fall down.

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