For the love of autumn…

Two neighbors had a disagreement
and I thought I’d tell you about it all,
along my street, the walk beside
and the leaves which in autumn fall,
one soul industriously gathered
his spent yard of flora in neat pile,
another traipsed along with child
spying it with unrestrained smile,
the lad ran and jumped in all joy
while the raker looked on aghast,
leaves tossed in the air here, there
with frustrated laborer in contrast,
kids will be so, the guardian shrugged
but the other endured no delight
no try was made to stop or enjoy
and neither thought the other right,
two neighbors at odds in autumn time
there’s no harm in a child’s trespass,
then tell me your home the raker asked
and I’ll deliver leaves to your address.

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Remembering the smell of burning leaves…

We Can’t Burn Leaves Anymore

Just last week the leaves clung
to their boughs
though heavy and sweetening,

glowing in October’s
blinding noonday sun
with its
hint of warmth still;
dancing in the stir of a breeze
still mild begging us to inhale deeply,
soon to be bitter,

a final, seasonal mindfulness
of fleeting comfort;
because November brought a change
of heavy rain
and the verdures no longer clung,
but yielded
and fell underfoot, waterlogged,
soon to rot,

staining the sidewalks if not
raked and swept
to be discarded in bags for burial,

no longer afforded
their final triumph of
autumnal cremation
stinging the eyes of dancing children
as rake-braced adults
gathered round in funereal muse.