Late Autumn in the Hills
A flock of birds
Spurts down the trail of autumn.
Bare hills
Wrap fog-blankets about them,
And nod. . . .
A whirl of wind
Scatters wild rice over the lake.
There is a shake of snow in the air.
My boat moors in the sedges.
My hand
Droops over the side of the boat.
My fingers
Touch a lotus pod.
The seeds rattle in the husk.
Autumn is anchored.
~~
Laura Sherry (1876-1947)
from Poetry, September 1922
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]
Laura Sherry biography
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