At the turning of the season
as the trees begin to wane
one might see children run about
for a reason that's quite plain.
They seek to trap but just a few
of the leaves that slowly fall
from branches on the many trees
they find so very tall.
They stay alert
and watch intently
the colors coming down.
While in their minds
they search intensely
for where they'll touch the ground.
Though to those who do not know their game,
It appears a blind confusion
The aimlessness
that strangers see
Is but the leaves' elusion.
***I found this poem online but couldn't find an author to credit.
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