GATHERING LEAVESSpades take up leavesNo better than spoons,And bags full of leavesAre light as balloons.I make a great noiseOf rustling all dayLike rabbit and deerRunning away.But the mountains I raiseElude my embrace,Flowing over my armsAnd into my face.I may load and unloadAgain and againTill I fill the whole shed,And what have I then?Next to nothing for weight,And since they grew dullerFrom contact with earth,Next to nothing for color.Next to nothing for use.But a crop is a crop
The poem "Gathering Leaves" by Robert Frost reflects on the seemingly mundane task of collecting fallen leaves. The poet compares the act of gathering leaves to using spoons, highlighting the simplicity of the task. Despite the noise made while rustling through the leaves, there is an underlying sense of futility in the effort, as the collected leaves are light and lack substantial value or vibrant color after being taken from their natural environment. This emphasizes the transient nature of such a harvest.
