A Poem Begins In Delight And Ends

Gathering Leaves Spades Take Up Leaves No Better Than Spoons, And Bags Full Of Leaves Are Light As Balloons. I Make A Great Noise Of Rustling All Day Like Rabbit And Deer Running Away. But The Mountains I Raise Elude My Embrace, Flowing Over My Arms And Into My Face. I May Load And Unload Again And Again Till I Fill The Whole Shed, And What Have I Then? Next To Nothing For Weight, And Since They Grew Duller From Contact With Earth, Next To Nothing For Color. Next To Nothing For Use. But A Crop Is A Crop, And Who's To Say Where The Harvest Shall Stop?

Live And Let Live, Believe And Let Believe. 'twas Said The Lesser Gods Were Only Traits Of The One Awful God. Just So The Saints Are God's White Light Refracted Into Colors.

I Turned To Speak To God About The World's Despair But To Make Bad Matters Worse I Found God Wasn't There.

It Takes All Sorts Of In And Outdoor Schooling To Get Adapted To My Kind Of Fooling.

Now No Joy But Lacks Salt That Is Not Dashed With Pain And Weariness And Fault; I Crave The Stain Of Tears, The Aftermark Of Almost Too Much Love, The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.