I Am Eight

by Annette Snyckers

Dry leaves crackle around my ears,
smell of sweet decay sticks to my skin,
I cannot get enough,
I have to jump again
into the raked-up pile.

Under the bare-limbed Mulberry tree,
I run and jump and sink
in summer’s throw-away excess,
and again!
The leaves are very brown,
and again!
The sky is very blue.

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