Autumn is here, rustling all of the leaves
Soon ’twill be time to take care of the eaves
Last time we didn’t, we paid a big price
The eavestroughs were clogged, a magnet for ice
~~
And speaking of leaves, I’ve had cause to wonder
Why don’t they stay near their trees over yonder?
Why does the wind blow them into our place
Why, when around them is so much free space?
And speaking of wind, there’s a shutter gone loose
Far up near the roof, nearly high as the spruce
And if it should fall, it may land on our heads
Or just fly away as we sleep in our beds
~~
And speaking of beds, there’s the garden to tend
And errors we really must hasten to mend
Those wild strangling vines and the tough creeping Jenny
You put up with one and you end up with many.
~~
And speaking of errors, that tree we bought little
Has outgrown its place — but is fit as a fiddle
Too big to dig up but too nice to chop down
Which leaves us between both a smile and a frown
~~
And speaking of digging, some pesky wild thing
Has me gathering stones, and I’m ready to fling
It’s digging our daffodil bulbs from the soil
It’s making a mockery of all our hard toil
~~
“You terrible wretch!” all my dignity’s lost
(Those bulbs must be planted before the hard frost)
“You do this once more and I’ll wring your foul neck!”
But Squirrel just smirks and says: “What the heck?”
~~
Cynthia Reyes 