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Claire's Poetry Corner | Nov 26

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?

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