Fathers and sons
My father is taking my brothers and me To Hubbard's woods In search of redhaws and hickory nuts And whatever else fathers and sons Look for together. The autumn air Crackles as we trample the leaves That once were resilient with life. We know That what we have come for implicitly is more Than redhaws and nuts of which we shortly find An overabundance. We stop to observe A ruby-crowned kinglet flitting in a clump Of bittersweet. Our father has no wish To bring the day to a halt, to head for home Until we have filled the last receptacle To overflowing, and our hearts as well.