October

by May Swenson

october_swensonNow and then, a red leaf riding 

the slow flow of gray water. 

From the bridge, see far into 

the woods, now that limbs are bare, 

ground thick-littered. See, 

along the scarcely gliding stream, 

the blanched, diminished, ragged 

swamp and woods the sun still 

spills into. Stand still, stare 

hard into bramble and tangle, 

past leaning broken trunks, 

sprawled roots exposed. Will 

something move?—some vision 

come to outline? Yes, there— 

deep in—a dark bird hangs 

in the thicket, stretches a wing. 

Reversing his perch, he says one 

Chuck.” His shoulder-patch 

that should be red looks gray. 

This old redwing has decided to 

stay, this year, not join the 

strenuous migration. Better here, 

in the familiar, to fade.

This is the last stanza from May Swenson’s “October” from Nature: Poems Old and New. Read the complete poem.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Poem

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s