All They are Dust in the Wind
Nov 6th, 2007 by Marilyn
It’s the golden hour in Lawrence,
and everywhere I turn
leaves are falling with abandon
in the shades of autumn’s burn.
At our old house, fall was magic
but past a maple foot or two
the swearing flowed like syrup
and the leaf blower always blew.
This year we’re in an apartment
with a bored and grumpy pup
and though we wish our lawn was ready
we’ve no %$#@! leaves to pick up!
