close close2 chevron-circle-left chevron-circle-right twitter bookmark4 facebook3 twitter3 pinterest3 feed4 envelope star quill

Leaves

by Hilda Conkling

In my apple-orchard
In the oldest tree
Fall has hidden gold leaves.
I looked into the hollow
And saw no apples,
Only leaves with frost on them
Like marble tilings,
Like jeweled tables . . .
Yet there was no gold . . . no marble . . .
Only leaves covered with frost
That sparkled the way my thought told me.