ON SEEING A LEAF HOUSE

BY JEAN LITTLE  



Are small grave girls still architects with rakes,
Clearing out square green rooms, piling leaf walls,
Inserting , in their proper places, doors
And furniture and narrow joining halls?

Those walls were such that any passer-by
Might have stepped over them from room to room.
Yet, when a caller came, she knocked and I,
Putting by my imaginary broom,

Led her into the parlour where we talked
Of children and the weather, sipped our tea
And smiled at the new wallpaper. And if
And uninvited leaf I then should see

Light in the next room, well within arm's reach
And marring the perfection of the floor,
With what exquisite care I'd rise and go
To fetch it out through the appropriate door.