The greenery bathing in the summer sun
has tanned itself a gentle autumn brown
and the leaves descend contented
having seen the sights on high
the smooth fall breeze it eases slowly
it gives way, lets them fall to rest.
I watch, through the window, waiting,
seeing them gather and grow in number upon the grass,
soon the rusty snow of autumn is a carpet on my lawn.
The leaves, they sleep, unsuspecting, nothing do they know of my intent.
I step outside, rake in hand, the cool crisp air rushes in as I breathe,
I am the shepherd. With a swift stroke the slumbering ones are tossed
they awake, disoriented, they are flying! only to tumble back down
in a jumbled heap. Deftly maneuvering the rake I bring them in
from far and wide, until the haphazard mound grows to a mountain
of leaves upon leaves, a mighty brown fortress of foliage.
Not another one dares to descend from above,
lest it share the fate of its fallen brothers.
A deep breath, the rake tossed to the ground, beside me lying.
step, step, step, pump, pump, pump, pump
the leaf pile I am eyeing
my feet race thump thump and jump!
I am flying!
This is something I wrote a while back for an English class in high school. It was supposed to follow this odd, antiquated poetic form, called a "bob and wheel", or "box and whisker" or something of the sort. It goes with the season. Enjoy!