In the cloud gray mornings
I heard the herons Flying
And when I came into my garden,
My silken outer-garment
Trailed over withered leaves.
A dried leaf crumbles at a touch,
But I have seen many Autumns
With herons blowing like smoke
Across the sky.
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Comments
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Wow... very interesting poem. I've never read anything of Amy Lowell's before, but this is really great. I'm not sure what a heron is so I'm not exactly sure what the meaning is, but still, a good poem overall.
--Tim -
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A heron is a large long necked bird that usually lives and feeds near water. a large white Heron diving is an awesome sight.
Jim
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Hmmm....this seems fatalistic to me. Like the end is approaching.
There's a realization of the beauty of the time and setting, yet at the end it's discarded. Very interesting.
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