When the leaves start to float softly to their graves ,
Fairies born in spring, wings slowly melt away,
Into the sky autumn turned red with sunset fine,
Into the ground which’s cover’d by color’d pattern design,
But after the cold has sent the land to its tomb,
Covering it with linen soft white from heaven’s loom,
The earth will spring to life once more,
And fairies with their new wings will pick themselves up off the floor.