In Hardwood Groves

The same leaves over and over again!

They fall from giving shade above

To make on texture of faded brown

And fit the earth like a leather glove.

Before the leaves can mount again

To fill the trees with another shade

They must go down past things coming up.

They must go down into the dark decayed.

They must be pierced by flowers and put

Beneath the feet of dancing flowers

However it is in some other world

I know that this is the way in ours.

-Robert Frost