It is so rare now-a-days
To catch the aroma
Of the last of autumn’s glory
As it succumbs to a flame
We burned them all the time
When I was young
My grandfather had a rusty old barrel
Where they would meet their fiery end
Into big piles we’d rake them
For one more last big jump
Then into the barrel they’d go
Their smoke heralding the end of summer
Autumn was a good time
When I was young
The holidays were coming
Halloween and flickering pumpkins
Then it was Thanksgiving
With all the mouthwatering aromas
Sage, Cinnamon, Roasting Turkey
A popping wood fire foretelling snow
Snow! We loved it back then
December snow...Santa snow… Reindeer snow…
Holidays were so magical
When I was young
Those memories came rushing back recently
A neighboring farmer was burning leaves
I had forgotten how much I loved that scent
And once more… I am young
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