Grownup Autumns Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Leaves that fall sweep on through the hall.
Landing on your doorsteps solidified.
Not that many, but there are still several.
It's annoying when they're blown inside.
But it's great when you're a small child, knee-deep
Wading through them, kicking them sky-high,
Scooping them up in armfuls with a leap
Throwing them air-bound like a dragonfly-
With a thousand wings, they hover cloud-like.
Suspend for a second, falling and 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.'