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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 colour
Next to nothing for use But a crop is a crop And who’s to say where The harvest shall stop?
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