These friendly hills are now attired
To dance to tunes by winds inspired
Each golden tree will swing and sway
With oakbrush dressed another way
Confetti leaves will fill the air
Ripe apples will be royal fare
The harvest moon will shed its light
So dancing can go on all night.
But when the festival is through
The friendly hills find rest is due
And so in ermine robes they keep
A rendevous with healing sleep.