Lilies, redux

Consider the oak leaves in my yard
how they roil and spin
as the wind whips them skyward
and they fly out of reach.

Observe as they settle
and carpet the fading grass
a beauty of red orange gold
that puts my Oriental to shame.

See my reluctance
to rise from my chair
take up my rake
and wreck the splendor.

Watch as I toil
to gather the glorious piles
shove them in bags
and drag them curbside for collection.

By M. W. MacKay


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