Sunday's Poetry Offering

Our back road day trip was fantastic! There were so many wonderful vistas
and beautiful farms draped in fall color. We had frost here this morning! Perhaps that's why I thought of Robert Frost... who knows? This is a poem
by him called:

A Late Walk

When I go up through the mowing field,
the headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words.

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth,
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry home to you.