The Leaf Pile
There it sat, tempting as ever;
Through the eyes of a child, it was almost heaven;
You really can’t blame me, I was only seven.
No thought was given to the cold weather.
By the sweat of his brow he had worked all day,
The rake was a whirrr, as it pawed at the dirt,
Scratching and scraping, it stayed at its work.
What’s wrong with a child wanting to play?
The leaves, they would scatter, twirling, swirling ‘round
Seemed they were too allusive to tame,
Running like cats, when it starts to rain.
His work came to conclusion, he put his rake down.
It was ALL mine! All mine! Such a beautiful mound!
Scheming my leap, without inhibition,
Determined, undeterred, I had a mission!
I galloped and soared, then pounced with a bound!
They scattered and tossed, until all had dispersed,
The leaf pile vacated, not even a trace!
Gone, desecrated, it had all been laid waste.
Then laid there in horror, expecting the worst.
His face looked stern, and I saw a scowl;
I was scared, chilling thoughts ran through my mind,
What retribution had he designed?
He gave me the rake…it was my turn now.