EVERY FALL

every fall, that time for burning leaves
once ignited they will lip and curl up
making little wisps,  charred, they rise far
carried by the shift of wind, each
small ember reminds me of fireflies
as they flit on a sticky July dusk night
now a distant memory, still being it's
late October, ready to  remind, with it's
chill, beginning to insert itself, I rub my
hands once, twice, and the day fades
more quickly now,  trying to get this
chore done, every year the leaves fall
I burn them, and they continue to pile up
a never-ending seasonal curse, what's worse
the cold or the leaves, I race the clock, my mind
wanders  as I watch the remains, using my stick
to disperse what's left of the pile, I make small ones
here, there, when my wife  calls from the open door
releasing welcome warmth, the house beckons me in

by Michael Perry