all things counter, original, spare, strange;

Spring and fall

:to a young child

Margaret, are you grieving 

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leaves, like the things of man, 

You with your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

Ah! as the heart grows older 

It will come to such sights colder

By and by, nor spare a sigh 

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;

And yet you will weep and know why.

Now no matter, child, the name: 

Sorrow's springs are the same.

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed

What heart heard of, ghost guessed:

It is the blight man was born for, 

It is Margaret you mourn for.

--Gerard Manley Hopkins

I tried to memorize a poem for every letter of the alphabet, and this Hopkins gem (my favorites beside this are Pied Beauty and God's Grandeur) came to mind with its leaf-crunchy rhythm when I was jogging with the dog on Thanksgiving morning.

We had ventured to cut down a Christmas tree the day before and trudged through the "worlds of wanwood leafmeal".

I hope you all have a poetic thankful week.