Y'all know our tree outside Bruce's wall—
it ain't very tall, but it sure ain't small.
It's a swell little tree—makes a nice little dell—
but when fall season fells, it's confusing as cell
biology. See this tree's fall's under spell.
But a story I'll tell, all your fears I will quell.
T'ain't worth a yell, it's simply that . . . well
its leaves just gel—they all stay put, come squall or squell.
They're in for the long-haul, they're really swell,
they've got a goal, they're on the ball.
Though other trees fall, this one stalls
until finally one day its soul it will sell
and like Saul becoming Paul it will change on the bell—
after one leaf has fell, the rest fall pell-mell.
So y'all, can ya' foretell, can ya' smell, can ya' call the fall?
