From the notebook....

A different kind of poetry, a different kind of rhyme, I now present to you; It is different this time:

Nothing is so pretty,
On a Saturday afternoon than
Valiant leaves falling
Ere the wind blows them far.
Memories of past months, and many
Better seasons, these leaves have recorded
Even to the last
Rough summer

Read this poem across, both horizontally and vertically; although there is no rhyme to it, dost thou note some thing else?