MY leaning birch is yellower today And down the long fall haze that is the sky The sun shines on the grackles going by The row of poles where fading bean-leaves sway; Shadows like something out of summer stay Along the paths where sunflowers have grown high; I almost touch a yellow butterfly That flutters on a stalk and flies away. There is nostalgia that such gardens hold After full summer and before a frost. The bitter smell among the marigold By a north wall where grass is wet and cold Is half a memory a child has lost, And half a troubled thought of growing old. |