The last of them now bank the house or have been burned.
None are left upon the trees or on the lawn.
Green and tall as ever it grew in spring the grass
Grows not too tall, will not be cut again this year.
Geraniums in bloom behind the windowglass
Are safe. Fall has fallen yet winter is not yet here.
How warm the late November sun although how wan.
The white house stands a symbol of fulfillment there,
Housing one old woman, a cat, and one old man
After abundance but before the earth is bare.
Indoors the constant fire, the careful thriftAre facts that I accept and understand.I have brought in red berries and green boughs-Berries of black alder, boughs of pine.They and the sunlight on them, both are mine.I need no florist flowers in my house.Having lived here the years that are my best,I call it home. I am…
One everywhere, one scarcely anywhere.So fair unfair a world. Had we the witTo use the surplus for the deficit,We’d make a fairer fairer world of it.Anonymous submission.
Searock he built, not ivory.Searock as well his haunted artWho gave to plunging hawks his hearts.2He loved to stand upon his headTo demonstrate he was not dead.Ah, if his poems misbehave‘Tis only to defy the grave.3This exquisite patrician birdGrooming a neatly folded wingGuarded for years the Sacred Word.A while he sang then ceased to sing.4His…
Are vegetable hearts) were worn on sleeves,The squash’s are. In green the squash vine gushes.The flowers are cornucopias of summer,Briefly exuberant and cheaply golden.And if they make a show of being hidden,Are open promiscuously to every comer.Let the squash be what it was doomed to beBy the old Gardener with the shrewd green thumb.Let it…
(Hal for short) boy with wind-wild hair.It means Praise God, as well it should since praiseIs what God’s for. Why didn’t they call my fatherHallelujah instead of Ebenezer?Eben, of course, but christened Ebenezer,Product of Nova Scotia (hallelujah).Daniel, a country doctor, was his fatherAnd my father his tenth and final boy.A baby and last, he had…
But once upon a timeThere were three old women.One wore a small beardAnd carried a big umbrella.One stood in the middleOf the road hailing cars.One drove an old cartAll over the town collecting junk.They were not weird sisters,No relation to one another.A duly accredited witch INever heard Amherst ever hadBut as I say thereWere these…
