Gathering Leaves
Spades that up leaves
No better that spoons
And bags a full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like a rabbit and deer
Running away.
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 see for use
But a crop is crop
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?
By
Robert Frost
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