On this day the wind and the squirrels conspire
To knock over the bird feeder
The dog and sparrows eat together, nosing though the leaves.
On this day the wind pushes leaves back up from the ground
They land on branches
Like birds that forgot it was passed time to fly away south.
On this day a small red dog runs up the bottom of a rocky gorge
A small red fox awakens
Steals over the gorge top and disappears among umbered leaves.
On this day the last mulberry leaves have fallen
Leaving only buckthorn trees
Green against the soft fawn of oak and maple and cottonwood.
On this day the sun paints the other side of the river in ochre light
Snow dances in the air but does not fall
The red dog runs through leaves that whisper of his passing.
On this day the robin's knocking call announces evening
Crows argue with their kin
A hawk takes the day's last sail over the thick pulse of the gray river.
2 comments:
Finnegan, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man,
You, with your fresh thoughts
Care for, can you?
As your heart grows older
It will come to such sights bolder
By and by, nor heave a sigh
Tho' worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie.
Finnegan's Person says
"It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Finnegan you mourn for."
Post a Comment