Some days in the Autumn,
When the leaves swirl off the pavement,
A little house stands still, alone.
It's not something that can be seen,
Only something to be felt.
It is a well-built structure,
And there's dust upon the floor,
And if you come a knocking,
They'll open up the door.
A house made out of Secrets,
Secrets only leaves can tell,
They tell you an awful lot.
You would hear it as a leaf,
You miss out because you're not.
The dew is sprinkled mystically,
The warm air has turned cold,
And then you hear the whispering,
Only then you'll truly know.
The little house is standing there,
Where it has grown for years,
The little house that gives and takes away
All of your fears.
You know it's standing out there,
When you are tucked in for the night,
You know at day,
It's standing there,
When something's not quite right.
