In the fall when it gets cold
Our oak leaves turn from green to gold.
And when the air is full of wind
One by one they come unpinned.
As in the air they dance and flutter
Some come down and clog our gutter,
And where have all the others gone?
They’ve accumulated on my lawn.
When I was a boy we’d rake a pile,
And kids would play there for a while,
Then some adult would take a turn
To light a match and watch them burn.
I never asked about the reason.
It was the incense of the season.
If such a thing today were done
The neighbors would all call nine-one-one,
And one or two might shed a tear
Because I’ve ruined their atmosphere.
But if there is a truth to tell,
I really miss that pungent smell.
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