A giant he seemed to one so small
My Papa etched against the sky
And I who'd crane my neck to seek
That special twinkle in his eye.
"Our leaves of joy," my Papa said
Gathering golds and browns and reds
T'was then we'd laugh and drop our rakes
And tumble in the crackling beds.
As ever though the day would come
We'd rake up in a lofty pile
Our leaves of joy, then set afire
And watch in silence for awhile.
The smell of woodsmoke in the air
Brings back this poignant memory
Of autumns past and secrets shared
Of Papa, leaves of joy, and me.
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