Delmonico's boarders.
It is Fall
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 haze 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 bin;
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, knoll 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 drooping, soon there
won't be none at all,
Old Jack Frost has nipped them, and by that
I know it's Fall.
The muskrat has built himself a house down
by the old mill pond,
The squirrels are laying up their store from
the chestnut trees beyond;
While walking through the orchard I can
hear the ripe fruit fall;
There's an air of quiet comfort that only
comes with Fall.
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