Marsh Leaf

DAVID R. WAGONER

MARSH LEAF

The swamp reeds murmur the song.

The voices and tongues are brown.

Cold water-mouths move and sing,

And grey mist huddles down.

I look for a hopeful thing,

But the mud and reeds have been troubled long.

Inside of a low-roof house

The wavering walls are white.

I look for a natural truce,

But leaves are light;

And over the rolling marsh

Brown reeds are always blowing and loose.

A coward may run from grief

Or hide old pain from his eyes,

But the sight of a russet leaf

Reechoes the dry-lipped cries:

One leaf lying underfoot

Speaks, though dead and fallen and deaf.

David R. Wagoner

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