Great poets have the ability to examine the mundane and the humble and transform it into poignancy. They take the time to unearth the meaning, the purpose, the treasure located in daily tasks. Here’s what happens when Robert Frost rakes leaves. I’m about to start raking this week. If you are too, perhaps you can also see this task with new eyes through Frost’s poetic sight.
Gathering Leaves by Robert Frost
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who’s to say where
The harvest shall stop?
