DRIVING HOME THE COWS
THE creek flames and the stunted willows all. The lad, driving his cows through the last light, Sees the one elder, newly budded white, Flush like a rose behind the pasture wall. Waist deep in gathering mist the briers tall By the choked pool show spectral to the sight. Caught in their flying flakes he climbs the height, Out to the lane keen with the water's brawl. Boughs stir; late, noisy bees buzz homeward there, Packed with the wealth of honey-hearted weeds. From cobwebbed thorn a wren, as he goes by, A single burst of song sends down the air. Tinkling, the cows troop through the gusty reeds; Black stands the barn against a flawless sky.