Ta da! --
Now, what a place to go to, my friend!
To the streets of Minn'polis, so drunken, so dead!
Oh, do consider again, if you please;
For this place is not friendly to leaves!
They're sputtered and guzzled and turned to a pulp,
Thrown down the throat with such tyrannical gulp!
The forests are golden and leaves are bright green,
The fields are brown-dark and grasses are green,
The waters are shimm'ring and cloudy and lean.
What does this all mean, what definition?
What can be meant by this old destination?
A place that is contrary to whatever it be,
That certainly does make a little mice wee.
It is a place where there is not a street,
A place where people hardly ever do meet,
A place full of the warnings of woods,
The chastisement giv'n to the one child's 'could'.
'Oh, yes, my child, of course you could, or would!
But, you see, child, 'tisn't could, but 'tis might!'
Such little childrens do not know what's right.
In this forest it is not kept at bay,
The darkness does not creep as long shadows may,
They're pulled back forc'dly by the old trees,
For there are mosses and new ferns to see!
Children who come there do not speak at all,
This is what I am telling you, before fall.