the leaves on the trees turning from yellow to brown
with a stiff wind soon on the ground
rustling, rustling,
a pile of leaves so neatly collected
beckoning me so they\'re not neglected
rustling,rustling
i jump I jump so gleefully
in a daze of joy so peacefully
to which I must admit this practice I adore
now the leaves askew and beckoning no more
until next year my beautiful foes
rustling, rustling as the wind blows
s. willmore