She chases autumn leaves
As though they’re
Wild scurrying mice,
Of brown and red,
And yellow ochre.
There’s a flurry of leaves
As she pounces onto her
Imaginary foe,
Which barely escapes.
She carefully peers beneath
Her soft playful paws.
In a whisp of crisp air,
It vanishes.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
