Their rustling skirts Had quieted Wherein before They’d rioted Across the Concrete drive There I’d done it Seized the chance After the wind Had ceased its dance Across the Concrete drive I’d applied some Wind of my own A regular Hand held cyclone Across the Concrete drive Now perfectly Still and pristine One might adjudge “To the bone clean” Across the Concrete drive But one need only Turn his back There’ll be swirling Leaves of no lack Across the Concrete drive Drifting down with a Clattering crackle Triumphing o’er me With a soft cackle Filling the Concrete drive.
RWOz2