On Clough Road when I was a child
we had some maple trees.
In fall the leaves lay on the lawn,
in places to my knees.
My dad would rake this dried debris
into one giant pile.
My friends and I were then allowed
to play in it awhile.
We’d run and dive into this hive
for all the afternoon.
And when the kids were called away,
they’d always whine, "Too soon!"
I’d come back in the house all leafy,
notice Dad’s chagrin,
as Mom would tell him cheerfully,
"You’ll have to rake again."