And when I ask mamma the shortest way across the fields to Dalton, she says, 'Use your common sense, my dear'. Because all woods are dun and dingy just now, Mary, and not green. I cannot look with pleasure on the decay of the mother of all living. The many hues upon the landscape are but the spots of dissolution. There was a river to feed them.
Autumn is the 'fall'.
My good boy, you are so earnest about everything. Play me that beautiful air of Beethoven, the one I call 'The Voice of the Dead'. Copyright 2000 by Bob Elder. All rights reserved .