Late September by Ted Kooser
Behind each garage a ladder
sleeps in the leaves, its hands
folded across its lean belly.
There are hundreds of them
in each town, and more
sleeping by haystacks and barns
out in the country - tough old
day laborers, seasoned and wheezy,
drunk on the weather,
sleeping outside with the crickets.
from Flying at Night: Poems 1965-1985
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4 comments:
That's really great - exactly what it feels like, now that it's cooled off and we've had about 3/4" of rain. I have a fuzz of green in my pasture, with more to come.
I just love Autumn!
Ha ha!!! you've caught the poetry bug! A poem from vacation, no less!!
I love this poem. Especially since there are quite few ladders around here with the siding just finished and the roofing about to start.
Thank you!
Great poem!!! No everyone could take a simple thing like a ladder and create a poem about it.
Lovely poem that makes us appreciate the commonplace much like Thornton Wilder's "Our Town." We should do more in this department :).
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