LEAVES

The leaves under the snow
Accuse I was too slow.
Too much ease I did take
Instead of wielding my rake

It is the trees I blame
Which cause me undue shame.
They held on for too long,
Trying Fall to prolong.

I did do the chore thrice,
Clearing the leaves quite nice,
While those oak trees looked on
At my work on the lawn.

They shook at me their crowns
With the wind's rattling sounds.
Although strong gusts did blow,
They refused to let go.

So now the leaves will wait
Until winter does abate.
I will find them next Spring
As the first chore they bring.