Thomas Newton 

Raining Leaves 

I rake the leaves into a pile. The wind
is gusty, shaking leaves from trees in my
yard, canceling my work. It hurts to bend
over and lift this litter from the sky.
The only sign of progress is the trash
bag's filling up. These dead leaves will all be
here on the ground tomorrow. I still stash
the bags of leaves and weeds by the oak tree.
The grass is sparse. Its light is captured by
the cover of these leaves and taller weeds.
Why do I waste my time? Why do I try
to get the grass to grow? Are these vain deeds?
I am  a  raker of oak leaves. I am
a gatherer of Nature's trash. I am...