Coming to School I come by bus, Mike comes by trike. Some people drive, And some people hike. Spike likes to run, Ike likes to bike. The ways that we come Aren't always alike.
In Autumn They're coming down in showers, The leaves all gold and red; They're covering the little flowers, And tucking them in bed. They've spread a fairy carpet All up and down the street; And when we skip along to school, They rustle 'neath our feet.