Digging by Edward Thomas Today I think Only with scents - scents dead leaves yield, And bracken, and wild carrots seed, And the square mustard field; Odours that rise When the spade wounds the root of tree, Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed, Rhubard or celery; The smokes smell, too Flowing from where a bonfire burns The dead, the waste, the dangerous, And all to sweetness turns. It is enough To smell, to crumble the dark earth While the robin sings over again Sad songs of Autumn mirth.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Oct 2013 08:42:53 +0000
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