What is that stuff all over our yard
So thick that no grass can be seen?
The leaves, my friend, are blowing in the wind
Dead brown leaves are covering the green.
How many loads must I lug to the woods
To dump on the wide forest floor?
This raking, my friend, it never seems to end
There always will be one load more.
How many squirrels dig up our yard
To bury this year's acorn crop?
Their number, my friend, is more than I can count
Oh God, how I wish they would stop!
Author and Curator: Dr. David P. Stern
Mail to Dr.Stern: david("at" symbol)phy6.org .
Last updated 15 November 2004