Autumn

 

Song for Autumn, by Mary Oliver 

Don't you imagine the leaves dream now

how comfortable it will be to touch

the earth instead of the 

nothingness of wind? And don't you think 

the trees, especially those with

mossy hollows, are beginning to look for

the birds that will come -- six, a dozen -- to sleep

inside their bodies? And don't you hear 

the goldenrod whispering goodbye,

the everlasting being crowned with the first 

tuffets of snow? The pond

stiffens and the white field over which

the fox runs so quickly brings out

its long blue shadows. The wind wags

its many tails. And in the evening

the piled firewood shifts a little, 

longing to be on its way.