With fall upon us, I feel inclined to share the traditional Frost poem about leaves. Why? Because about 10 billion of them are about to descend upon my lawn.
Gathering Leaves
by Robert Frost
****
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?
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2 comments:
What spider is this? I do not know.
He’s wandering in the leaves below.
He will not bite me stopping here
Because my mom will kick his rear. . . .
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
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