In the fields of green and gold,
The leaves and grass do dance and fold,
And the pumpkin sits so plump and round,
Waiting for its harvest crown.
Up in the sky so bright and clear,
The moon shines down with gentle cheer,
Watching as the corn grows tall,
Reaching up towards the fall.
But as the season starts to change,
And the air grows crisp and strange,
The frost descends with icy breath,
Bringing autumn's chilly death.
So gather 'round the pumpkin bright,
And sing and dance into the night,
For though the leaves and grass may fade,
We'll celebrate the harvest we've made.
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