Autumn
Yellow the bracken,
Golden the sheaves,
Rosy the apples,
Crimson the leaves;
Mist on the hillside,
Clouds grey and white.
Autumn, good morning!
Summer, good night!
Who?
Who will feed the dicky-birds on the garden wall?
Winter-time is very big—they are very small!
Who will feed the dicky-birds on the frozen trees?
Every little twitter means, “Feed us, if you please!”
Who will feed the dicky-birds in the frost and snow?
See them on the chimney-pot, cuddled in a row!
Who will feed the dicky-birds till the days of spring?
Think of what they do for you and the songs they sing!
I will feed the dicky-birds, and when Spring-time comes,
Every little song will mean, “Thank you for the crumbs!”