In a meadow full in bloom with the palette of Autumn tones
Of browns, reds. yellows, burnt oranges, and gold
A man came running though
Fast, straight through he came
Dodging branches of low hanging trees
Over the leaves and across the creek
But not a color he did feel
He was on the run you see, for committing a robbery
On he ran through the palette of Autumn tones
Past browns, reds, yellows, burnt oranges, and gold
In a flash he was gone.
Into a meadow full in bloom with the palette of Autumn tones
Of browns, reds, yellows, burnt oranges, and gold
Came a child bright with life and surely just as bold
Poor in goods and material things
her legs twisted and small
She gasped with open eyes and a wide mouth smile
As she gazed to the painted trees that stood so straight and tall
She took it all in again and again
And spun around in circles big
Dancing in the wind
To the rustle of the autumn leaves
And the sound of the flowing creek
And had not noticed the piles of money swirling at her feet.
Notes of A Native Son 