Contents Index of titles
Index of first lines PDF version of this poem
Concordance Random poem
Now and Then
Leaves on a felled tree
do not drift away
to earth and slow decay—
cling unnaturally
shrivelling on their ties,
dying as the tree dies.
Autumn’s little death,
winter’s image of
the unresponding grave,
are changed in spring’s breath.
Stripped trees put green on.
Not the felled one.