Hare Drummer
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o the boys and girls still go to Siever’sFor cider, after school, in late September?Or gather hazel nuts among the thicketsOn Aaron Hatfield’s farm when the frosts begin?For many times with the laughing girls and boysPlayed I along the road and over the hillsWhen the sun was low and the air was cool,Stopping to club the walnut treeStanding leafless against a flaming west.Now, the smell of the autumn smoke,And the dropping acorns,And the echoes about the valesBring dreams of life.They hover over me.They question me:Where are those laughing comrades?How many are with me, how manyIn the old orchards along the way to Siever’s,And in the woods that overlookThe quiet water?
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