“Falling Leaves” by Marque Dobrow

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When the autumn months are calling,

Leaves from up on high are falling.

Landing softly on the ground

Without a shudder or a sound.

But if I were a bug or bee

And if a leaf should land on me

Would I be hurt, or in a pickle?

Or would that leaf provide a tickle?

Through March and April and into May

Leaves are falling by the day.

Mother Nature’s voice has called,

The trees seem to be going bald.

In my backyard beneath the sky

Leaves of many colours lie.

Maple leaves and sycamores;

Gum leaves too: there’s leaves galore.

While the soil is far from hardened

I rake some leaves onto my garden,

Making many a compost heap,

Where all the worms and snails sleep.

So if you’re rolling up your sleeves

Please admire the falling leaves.

Pick one up from off the clover:

Go on and turn a new leaf over.

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