The wind blows gently through the trees,
The breath of God's sweet love;
The sun is shining bright and warm
From Heaven high above.
The days are getting shorter
As Fall is drawing near;
Our Father starts His painting
Of the colors all so clear.

The red, the orange, the yellow
Begin showing on the trees,
So beautiful the colors,
As they drift upon the breeze.
His mighty hand controls His brush
Wherever He does go,
Making colors bold to see
Because He loves us so.