On the Road at Two-and-a-Half, or Blowing in the Wind Called Phaedra

Oh, I like this new game 
Of Papa’s—these strange little 
Light things he picked up 
To show me—he calls them 
Leaves—how they race along 
Where he placed them next 
To each other turning 
Over and over and me 
Running after them 
Like crazy I hope 
The one he said was mine wins.