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The Little Leaf by Annette Wynne

And so, the little leaf flew far—O far,
Out to the place where the blue hills are.

It took the wind's hand, and on it went;
All was so new—it was quite content

To go far away from the mother tree
And find where the little brook found the sea.

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Gathering Leaves by Robert Frost

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

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Leaves at Play by Frank Dempster Sherman

Scamper, little leaves, about
In the autumn sun;
I can hear the old Wind shout,
Laughing as you run,
And I haven't any doubt
That he likes the fun.

When you've run a month or so,
Very tired you'll get;
But the same old Wind, I know,
Will be laughing yet
When he tucks you in your snow
Downy coverlet

So, run on and have your play,
Romp with all your might;
Dance across the autumn day,
While the sun is bright.
Soon you'll hear the old Wind say,
"Little leaves, Good-night!"

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Fall, leaves, fall by Emily Brontë

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.