Pumpkins start to decay and ooze
Little rain boots pat gently the rain drops into the porous concrete
A tuft of blonde curls bouncing and twirling
Dancing with her partner around her, the rain droplets
Later her father's brings out the rakes
Her tiny hands make white knuckles
Clutching the small handle as she combs through the ground
Wheezing as the last leaf is purposefully placed,
In what she thought had to be the perfect pile
The colors dampened, a glossy film of water gathers
The melted tree bits gathered for her moment of joy
She run from the house as fast as she can,
And right before the pile she leaps
A perfect ten, right into sopping leaves
