January 26, 2012
Clear away all the fallen leaves you see
Like a good son, father said to me.
Raking some ten thousand flakes of crimson gold,
The wind only pulled more from the trees last hold.
His clean green grass in one moment gone
From the door he shouted loud “rake my lawn!”
With angry scorn I looked on high
Cursing trees and windy sky.
The years passed and his ghost still called to me:
"My good son, clear away all the leaves you see."
And, I finally said no! I would not dare,
Not until the trees are bare.
From "Imperfect and lovable"