Poem of the Week: Consent

It’s true– autumn in New England is gorgeous.  Other than the weirdness of the late October snowfall, I’ve been enjoying watching the leaves change, and shuffling through piles of them on the sidewalk on my way to class.  Which, by the way, explains if it doesn’t excuse my several-month absence from V&V–being in school apparently takes up a lot of time.  I’ll try to stop by the blog at least a little more often, though I know Poplicola is holding down the fort just fine.

Anyway, here’s a poem.

Late in November, on a single night

Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees

That stand along the walk drop all their leaves

In one consent, and neither to rain nor to wind

But as though to time alone: the golden and green

Leaves litter the lawn today, that yesterday

Had spread aloft their fluttering fans of light.

What signal from the stars? What senses took it in?

What in those wooden motives so decided

To strike their leaves, to down their leaves,

Rebellion or surrender? and if this

Can happen thus, what race shall be exempt?

What use to learn the lessons taught by time.

If a star at any time may tell us: Now.