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						Gathering Leaves by Robert Frost 
						
						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 the 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 grew duller From contact with 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?						 
						
						
						
						
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