A View From The Pasture On A September Morning
The ending swallows the beginning's tale.
John Hollander, "Kinneret"
The first cold morning and the slight slipping away
Beginning, nights longer, days blurring at the edges,
Distance seeming both closer and farther than before,
Especially in the garden where vines and sun burned
Bushes have laid down their bounties and burdens
And let the ground take them in again. Soon time
To top-dress it all, compost and last winter's ashes
And spring and summer's horse manure ripe with oats,
Goat droppings clustered and round as stream pebbles.
Sparrows are picking the last bitter gooseberries and
Wasps come to drink from windfall apples and plums
And wobble off, drunk with delight. Squirrels planting
The black walnuts and acorns, the first flight of geese.
The last cutting of hay in the barn, straw for the stalls.
The earth gives and we give it back, each in our way.
Wind too begins to shift and the storm comes almost
From the north, horses nicker as rain hardens to hail.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2013-09-14 at 18:02
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