THE days are gettin' shorter, and      the summer birds are leaving,
 
     The wind sighs in the tree tops,
     as though all nature was grieving;
 
     The leaves they drop in showers, there's a
     blue haze¹ over all,
 
     And a feller is reminded that once again it's
     Fall.
     It is a glorious season, the crops most gathered
     in,
 
     The wheat is in the granary and the oats are
     in the bin²;
 
     A feller jest feels splendid, right in harmony
     with all,
 
     The old cider mill a-humin', 'gosh, I know
     it's Fall.
     I hear the Bob White whistlin' down by the
     water mill,
 
     While dressed in gorgeous colors is each
     valley, knoll³ and hill;
 
     The cows they are a-lowing, as they slowly
     wander home,
 
     And the hives are just a-bustin' with the
     honey in the comb.
     Soon be time for huskin' parties, or an apple
     paring bee,
 
     And the signs of peace and plenty are just
     splendid for to see;
 
     The flowers they are drooping⁴, soon there
     won't be none at all,
 
     Old Jack⁵ Frost has nipped them, and by that
     I know it's Fall.
     The muskrat⁶ has built himself a house down
     by the ol............