Damned leaves are turning red

Whistling tune, da da da da. Ba dum ba da ba da dum ba.

Leave, sky under the dome

Flowers, heat’s a burning’s done

Right around the vessel bend

Damned leaves are turning red

Again

Woosh, de do da. Do de da dah. Woosh, de do da. Do de da dah. Braah da da dah. Braah da da dah. Dum da do dah da, braah da do doo dah.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five.

Now the pot’s boiling over.

The man with the plan threw the knife round a handkerchief and stuffed both in his coat pocket. The body no life laid limo yet shocked, transfixed in time, no way or chance of survival.

Steam. An oven left on. A red face, make that two. The water overflows. Now the pot’s boiling over.

Maybe someone will notice the whistling has stopped.