Flicker, flicker, now the leaves

Fall golden from the weeping trees,

Make golden heaps and golden mounds,

Make golden homes upon golden ground.

Then they talk with a golden rustle,

With a golden noise and a golden fustle.

Now they lie in a golden sleep,

As their golden heads do peep

Out of a heap of copper red,

Out of a golden-yellow bed;

Now tucked beneath a golden sheet,

They rustle underneath our feet.


Sammie Forgrave

Tullygrawley School

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