A free-verse poem about fallen leaves.
|Our yard is quite treeless,
having just grass and flower beds.
When our neighbors’ trees undress,
the leaves shed get spread around,
blown afar by the wind.
A blanket, several inches deep,
of fallen leaves soon smothers our yard
in unseemly brown roughage
until my wife rakes, bags, and trashes
the leaf litter to restore the yard
to its former pristine state.
Her pride at her work soon gets dashed
as before her eyes a spate of the leaves
so despised slowly drizzle down,
her work being undone while she watches.
Alas, the leaves relentlessly float down
one by one … until a stronger burst of wind
brings leaves skating along the ground
tumbling from yard to yard to finally come
to rest upon our immaculate grass.
This aggravating pattern of leaf deposition
will repeat itself for weeks to come.
Only after the fall of all leaves is complete
and the neighbors’ trees stand bare
in their nakedness replete
will my wife then be able to keep
the clean yard she so fervently seeks.
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