Monday, November 14, 2016

Lightness in Autumn

(Picture taken by Elsa)
The rake is like a wand or fan,  
With bamboo springing in a span  
To catch the leaves that I amass  
In bushels on the evening grass.

I reckon how the wind behaves  
And rake them lightly into waves  
And rake the waves upon a pile,  
Then stop my raking for a while.

The sun is down, the air is blue,  
And soon the fingers will be, too,  
But there are children to appease  
With ducking in those leafy seas.

So loudly rummaging their bed
On the dry billows of the dead,
They are not warned at four and three  
Of natural mortality.

Before their supper they require  
A dragon field of yellow fire
To light and toast them in the gloom.  
So much for old earth’s ashen doom.

~Robert Fitzgerald

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