When the wandering wind...

When the wandering wind
wends its way through the land,
little leaves leap and spin
in a gay sarabande.

 

Like a wizard that waves
a wand within his hand
all the leaves are its slaves
dancing at its command.

 

And they look just like flames;
amber, golden and red
or like kids playing games
not like leaves that are dead.

 

Yes they leap, whirl and dance
for the wild wind that gives,
with its breath, one more chance
for those old leaves to live.