The LAST LEAF in THE GARDEN
I wish I had been there —
the garden stilled around the last
October leaf, nothing to hurry it,
nothing to slow it down
the whole season had come to this:
a holding-on so that the letting-go
might seem to us like chance.
I wish I had been there
to see the wind carry the leaf beyond
the wall, if that is what happened,
Winter, too, content to be late,
an elegant absence at the gate.
Post a Comment