In this poem, Dad is talking about burning leaves. We loved the smell of the leaves burning. Now days, there are very few places that let you burn the leaves. Hope this one will bring back some memories!
That cold pile of ashes, was once golden leaves,
So beautifully piled around.
Spending the Summer in tall lofty trees,
Then dropped to be blown on the ground.
Their lifetime is over, their beauty is spent,
Seems no purpose in life now remains.
Yet they show their beauty right to the end,
For it shows in the bright, glowing flame.
E. H. Coe 1977
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