““Ah - the autumn leaves,' she exclaimed, 'spinning earthwards, to their common home! Ah me, life is strange! Would you care to hear my triolet on the leaves?' 'Later,' I said. 'No, here. I would like the leaves to hear it too. A simple little thought, but expressed, I tell myself, not unworthily. Thought cannot be new, Norman; it is the expression that matters.' She rested her chin in one of her hands, gazed dreamily at the leaves, and declaimed: 'Sweet little leaves so brown and thin, Sycamore, beech, oak, elm and lime; Soon will your year again begin, Sweet little leaves so brown and thin. Sycamore, beech, oak, elm and lime, Victims of winter, weather and time - Sweet little leaves so brown and thin, Sycamore, beech, oak, elm and lime.””
