Cookie Jar

I eat leaves

in the early morning.

Their color

just too warm.

I do everything I can

to have a taste

of their marigold.

The house looks beautiful

with yellow-sprinkled floors.

Quick, I’ve to sweep before

company comes.

Their crinkled skins break

as the bristles meet the felled.

There are no birds.

And this is morning’s song.

Hush, it’s alright.

I will keep you in a jar

behind the entry closet door

safe from envious eyes.

And I will seek you

once again

when the winter blows its breath

so I will know the warmth of autumn

out of my cookie jar.