The few cured leaves pinch,
With forefinger and thumb.
Those little daredevils
do tempt the wind to come.
And as they float in place,
The white sun does rise;
They play it like a cinema
for his looking eyes.
The few cured leaves pinch,
With forefinger and thumb.
Those little daredevils
do tempt the wind to come.
And as they float in place,
The white sun does rise;
They play it like a cinema
for his looking eyes.