Spades take up leaves <br />No better than spoons, <br />And bags full of leaves <br />Are light as balloons. <br /> <br />I make a great noise <br />Of rustling all day <br />Like rabbit and deer <br />Running away. <br /> <br />But the mountains I raise <br />Elude my embrace, <br />Flowing over my arms <br />And into my face. <br /> <br />I may load and unload <br />Again and again <br />Till I fill the whole shed, <br />And what have I then? <br /> <br />Next to nothing for weight, <br />And since they grew duller <br />From contact with earth, <br />Next to nothing for color. <br /> <br />Next to nothing for use. <br />But a crop is a crop, <br />And who's to say where <br />The harvest shall stop?<br /><br />Robert Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gathering-leaves/
