Grownup Autumns Poem by Mark Heathcote

The leaves that fall that sweep on through the hall
landing on your doorsteps solidified.
Aren't that many, but there's still several
it's-annoying when they are blown inside. /
But it's great when you're a small child, knee-deep
wading through them, kicking them to the sky,
scooping them up in armfuls with a leap
throwing them air-bound like a dragonfly-
with a thousand wings, they hover cloud-like
suspend a second and fall tumbling down /
with an upside-down frown; what's to dislike
about this autumn's seasonal ball gown.
'Guess I am older; get me a yard brush…
I've no time for all this senseless—mush.'