Thursday Poem - Song for Autumn

In the deep fall
    don't you imagine the leaves think how 

comfortable it will be to touch
    the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
    freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,

    warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come—six, a dozen—to sleep

    inside their bodies? And don't you hear

the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
    the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
    vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
    its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
    the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

Mary Oliver, from Devotions