The Little Yellow Wagon

There’s a nip in the air this morn.
It’s time for sweaters and caps to be worn.
As I walked along the path today,
colorful leaves fell along the way.

In one front yard as I passed by,
a shiny new wagon caught my eye.
In it the leaves were piled high and wide.
A rake was leaning against its side.

This wagon was bright yellow,
and obviously belonged to a little fellow.
Memories of you, Son, went through my head.
Only your little wagon was bright red.

I remember how with leaves we’d fill it.
You’d pull it to the pile and spill it.
You’d make the trip again and again,
till it was piled high, and then-

You and I would jump in the pile
and throw them around and laugh a while.
We’d roll and toss and have a ball.
We knew how to really enjoy the fall!

I remember the leaves with their dusty scent,
as all around our heads they went,
filling the air with their rustling sound,
falling gently back to the ground.

I remember your childish delight and your happy smile.
That time has been gone for quite a while.
Yet I could see you there, a little fellow,
as through tears I stared as the wagon of yellow.

By
Elaine J. Roark