Amaze
I know
Not these my hands
And yet I think there was
A woman like me once had hands
Like these.
This poem is in the public domain.
Listen …
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall.
These be three silent things: The falling snow . . . the hour Before the dawn . . . the mouth of one Just dead.
Every day, Every day, Tell the hours By their shadows, By their shadows.