yet we ran out, and no butter too.
it will be a daily thing, now the grass is cut,
now the leaves fall. have you seen the path,
a newer colour, gold. it is the lilac leaves
dying.
the plan is made this year, so each day,
a little while, we will rake and gather.
bag the leaves tidy, yet still hope
the wind will come and blow some
away.
it was a full day’s work yesterday.
sbm.