Poetry Sunday: At day-close in November by Thomas Hardy
When we moved to this house thirty-four years ago, the large yard, front and back, was bare except for the grass and a couple of small trees. We immediately got to work to change all that, planting trees and making beds for shrubs and perennials, and setting up a vegetable garden. The yard today would be unrecognizable to one who knew it only from thirty-five years ago. In the front yard, the tall live oaks and red oak spread their limbs in a protective canopy, and I'm sure that the children who walk by our house every day on their way to and from school cannot conceive that there was ever "a time when no tall trees grew here." But we set every tree in our "June time and now they obscure the sky."