Claire V. Bogdanos

Have you noticed that the leaves are flown

They’ve been whisked away to parts unknown

I wonder where they now congregate

It once was beside each garden gate.

There was a game the small children played,

Heap up the biggest pile of leaves made

And then just jump and roll around

In that leafy mess upon the ground.

I never thought that game was much fun

With all that cleanup you would have done

But now I’m confused, where are the leaves

Are we victims of bucolic thieves ?