The falling leaves drift by my window
The falling leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sunburned hands, I used to hold.
Simce you went away, the days grow long
and soon I’ll hear old winter’s song.
But I miss you most of all, my darling
when autumn leaves start to fall.
1945 Les feuilles mortes
Joseph Kosma, Jacques Prévert