In Autumn, leaves blow everywhere,
Around my feet, and in my hair.
Although their colours might impress,
Good grief, they don’t half make a mess!
They’re dry and crunchy, for a time,
But when they’re wet, they turn to slime.
So walk with caution on damp grass,
Or else you’ll end up on your ass!
Each time I open my front door,
A pile of leaves drifts on my floor.
Just like a dirty brown snowfall,
They litter my once tidy hall.
I have to sweep them all away
About a hundred times a day!
The Summer gave us flowers, fair,
Now Autumn’s trash lies everywhere.
A messy garden’s not my style,
I rake the leaves into a pile,
I put the rake away, and then -
The wind blows them all back again!
Some poets like to celebrate
The sight the Autumn leaves create.
But I prefer them when they’re green,
Trees covered with a verdant screen.
Autumn means the year is dying,
Leaves fall like tears, trees are crying.
Much shorter days, the weather’s bad,
And lack of sunshine makes me sad.
So poets, please don’t waste my time,
Telling me Autumn is sublime.
Unless you want to feel my wrath,
Go fetch a broom, and sweep my path!