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 ?