Its Fall.
Maple trees growgrowgrow.
Down town towntowntown.
Birds sing english unslumped.
And green grass
Grows.

Maple leaves drop.
The sun’s slowin’ down.
And all the way down,
And dropping upwards smoke.

Maple leaves smoke.
Its Spring.
The maple lot croaked.
Wind did nothin’ wild but
Time allotted it a seat and spoke.

Maples leave smoke.
It’s water. Water that broke.
the Maples all prespired.
An empty lot learned to choke.