A Poem for a Thursday #199

One of the nice things about these regular poetry posts is that, slowly, I am developing favorite poets. Who would have ever thought it? Mary Oliver is definitely one of those favorites and it has been way too long since she has appeared here. This is a lovely seasonal poem.

Don't you imagine the leaves dream now
     how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
     nothingness of the air and the endless
freshets 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 crowded 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.

Song for Autumn
Mary Oliver