The small children whirl about
Like leaves borne upon thewind,
Smashing into
The carefully raked mounds,
Scattering the grimmemorials to death.
They laugh to themselves as they twirl,
Oblivious tothe world around them
As they hurl leaves through the air.
Mindless of whattime it is,
Not knowing where they have to be,
Not caring what they have todo.
Their only desire, to fling
Stability and orderliness into
Thedepths of chaos and disorder.

Anger boils within me
Then suddenly fadesaway,
I smile as my godson, Charles,
Waddles along with his tiny rake intow
Chasing after his sisters.
I chuckle as all the piles arescattered,
And I laugh as my hard work is undone by
Impish hands andsmiling faces
It is then, as I drag order forth from chaos,
I realize howmuch I have aged.
It is then, as I drag the barrel of leaves into thewoods,
I realize how much I have matured.

Suddenly the innocentlaughter of children reaches my ears,
As I hear the echoes of long-forgottenchapters of my life,
Chapters to which I can never return.
I realize thenhow much I miss my past.
And how I would trade everything I had,
If I couldjust go back to being a child,
To once more enjoy the present and not careabout tomorrow.
To again play in the many leaf piles of youth,
To savor thechaos of life
By toppling the structures of age.