The Leaves

The leaves they fall like dancing blades, Forever spinning among the glades. Glinting like knives they slice and skewer, Lilting as they reach the sewer. Carrying them down in rivers of muck, They run in such numbers, utterly amok! Emptying into my yard of thorns, To be put in a pile forever scorned. They rot, and decay, for hours a day. Never relenting, never going away. I watch them as they turn into grass. Relieving this world finally, at last.