One of the nicest beds I know
Isn’t a bed of soft white snow.
Isn’t a bed of cool green grass
After the noisy mowers pass.
Isn’t a bed of yellow hay
Making me itch for half a day
But autumn leaves in a pile that high,
Deep and smelling like fall and dry.
That’s the bed where I like to lie
And watch the flutters of Fall go by.
~ Aileen Fisher ~
Author of over 100 children’s books
Died in 2002 at the age of 96