A poem for you! It brings to my mind images of wandering over wet brown grassy fields in the midst of a fine November...leaves already on the ground, their pungent yet pleasant aroma clearing out the jumbled thoughts in my head, as I relish the brisk chill hanging in the air, and it turns my nose crimson on the end. Read on and enjoy!
A Late Walk
When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words.
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.
~Frost
~Frost
