Gathering Leaves
by Robert Frost
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?
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?
"Gathering Leaves" by Robert Frost, from The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems Complete and Unabridged
Absolutely gorgeous red leaves.
ReplyDeletethe perspective of the 2nd shot is brilliant!
ReplyDeleteWell, thanks. That second bright red leaf caught my eye as I stepped out of my car, full of dread because I was going to a dental appointment. It was the bright spot in a not-so-fun morning.
ReplyDeleteI need to re-visit Robert Frost as he was one of my favorite poets as a teenager. Your photos do add the perfect compliment.
ReplyDeleteYour photos truly suit the prose, Kerry!
ReplyDeleteI always laugh when I think of Robert Frost. His name makes me think of how frustrated the poor man was by everyone thinking he'd written a poem about death, when he was being rather literal about stopping by woods on a snowy evening.
The other thing he makes me think of is the time one of my college roommates had to memorize, "Two paths diverge in a yellow wood..." and ran around for two solid weeks reciting it aloud. Five suite mates, and we all learned the blasted thing backwards, forwards and were able to give highly dramatic recitations of it.
Frost makes me laugh. I hope that would make him laugh, but considering the poem about woods, and his quest to make others understand what it was about? I'm guessing I'd make him frown with a vengeance.