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Time's Laggard

Text of Poem

The house of summer closed its doors.
But like one fey or blind
I dreamed that I was still inside;
I kept it so in mind.

Now I am mocked by time’s own truth;
A wild grapevine, far-flung,
Drops frosted fruit; at my campfire
The smoke sticks out its tongue.

The wind pelts me with colored leaves,
While in an oak a crow
Prophesies that an Arctic clock
Is striking the hour of snow.

First Line
The house of summer closed its doors.
Original Pub Location
Original Publication Date
1960
Original Citation
The Saturday Evening Post (15 Oct. 1960) 125.
Complete Poems
104
Word Count
74
Poetic Form
closed
Themes
Twitter Quote
A wild grapevine, far-flung, / Drops frosted fruit