Garden Shed-Central Mine, Keweenaw Peninsula

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons, 
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons. 
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face. 
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed.
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grow duller
From contact with the earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?
Robert Frost-Gathering Leaves