They're falling now across my yard,
I must go and find my rake.
As once again I start the race
To beat the first snow flake.

The old oak tree that stands so tall
And stately as a queen,
All through the spring and summer months
Was robed in leaves of green.

Now those leaves have changed there hue
To red and gold and brown,
And with each whisper of the wind
Come tumbling to the ground.

As I rake and bag those leaves of fall,
Somehow I just know
That old oak tree is laughing at me
As I try to beat the snow.