Twenty-three little leaves on an old oak tree
Danced in the autumn breeze, away flew three
Some laughing children gathered five more,
Then the wind came back for another four.
A frisky squirrel chased his mate
And scattered more leaves, leaving eight.
The wind returned, but try as it might,
The rest of the little leaves held on tight.
All winter long the leaves clung to that tree,
When spring came, how many did the robins see?
eight Hide