Remember the smell of burning leaves? A
They don’t allow that in cities anymore.B
What about piles of leaves, soft in the core,B
and jumping in, all of your stress relieves? A
Grass stains on knees and elbows of your sleeves,A
Autumn pleasures a child will not ignore,B
despite how aggrieved mothers might implore B
and how warm the late Autumn sun deceives. A
But the dignity of adulthood prevents C
the joy of who we once were from leaking through.D
The child is no longer let out to play E
and in fluffy Autumn leaf piles to vent C
pent up energies of every natural hue.D
No, as adults we think what others might say.E

There is not a metaphor in the work.