Song for Autumn

Don't you imagine the leaves dream now
  how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the 
  nothingness of the air and the endless 
freshets of wind? And don't you think
  the trees, especially those with
mossy hollows, are beginning to look for 

the birds that will come - six, a dozen — to sleep
  inside their bodies? And don't you hear 
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
  the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
  stiffens and the white field over which 
the fox runs so quickly brings out
  its long blue shadows. The wind wags 
its many tails. And in the evening
  the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

                                        Mary Oliver