A wind bespoke the silent morn
And shuddered trees that stood half shorn,
So all the leaves came tumbling down
Ablaze with red and gold and brown,
And yellow flecked the carpeted ground
With pattern never loom could mold;
Nor decorator's album told
Such tapestry of mottled gold.
Across that carpet laid so neat
Came scurrying, hurrying little feet
To pick the nuts that lay half hid,
The acorn with its flowery lid
And other treasures there amid
The carpeting of an autumn day.
What a shame I could not stay
But duty called me - and away.
I turned to gaze back at my lawn
And found the lovely colors gone.
Instead a rake and drudgery
Were scattered there awaiting me.
I strained my brain in hope to see
A remnant of the beauty lurk
Beneath the leaves. A useless search
For all I saw was work, work, work.