leaves still fall

Leaves fall in the season.
On some they tumble in a violent storm,
On some they float as if in slow motion.
They always end up on the ground
As if banished from a limb for treason.

This yard the leaves buried;
No ground is missed, no spot is bare.
Other lawns get a sprinkle.
Depending on reaction, the owners are rested
Or in body and soul, completely wearied.

One can’t avoid the falling leaves
They come in season.
But does one gather them to clean up
Or for play with the kids
When they get crunchy bits in their pants and sleeves?

Or does one leave them for no reason?
She doesn’t want to deal with the mess.
He could care less how or where they lay.
Regardless the effect and response,
They will still fall in season.

A little walk around the block offers a good catalyst for a little pondering.