H. L. Davis

From “Primapara”

WE rode hard, and brought the cattle from brushy springs,

From heavy dying thickets, leaves wet as snow;

From high places, white-grassed, and dry in the wind;

Draws where the quaken-asps were yellow and white,

And the leaves spun and spun like money spinning.

We poured them onto the trail, and rode for town.

Men in the fields leaned forward in the wind,

Stood in the stubble and watched the cattle passing.

The wind bowed all, the stubble shook like a shirt.

We threw the reins by the yellow and black fields, and rode,

And came, riding together, into the town

Which is by the gray bridge, where the alders are.

The white-barked alder trees dropping big leaves

Yellow and black, into the cold black water.

Children, little cold boys, watched after us—

The freezing wind flapped their clothes like windmill paddles.

Down the flat frosty road we crowded the herd:

High stepped the horses for us, proud riders in autumn.