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“Do you know?” she asked,

Ankles deep in gold leaves.

“Do you know what the earth

meditates upon in autumn?”

“Ask the acorns,” he said.

“Query the roots of the trees.”

“Would they not,” she returned,

“Tell only their thoughts?

Would they hear the earth’s song

Over that of their seed?”

“Ask the squirrels, then,” he sighed

Rake in hand, a wind urging

His work to proceed.

“Or the sky, or the clouds

Or your own heart

Beneath that old tweed.

Ask the earth

As it speaks to the autumn,

While the soles of your feet

Fill these bags

Top to bottom.”

For dVerse Tuesday Poetic: the question as poetry