Poetry Sunday: Gathering Leaves by Robert Frost
Leaves are falling. Great heaps of them lie on the ground waiting to be removed to the compost bins. They are a rich harvest. Small animals will be glad for the heat of their decaying this winter and afterward garden beds will receive them. Nothing in Nature is wasted. 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?