Leaf

 This morning I was putting out hay for Moonie and Obi, and a scrap of folded faded newspaper fell out of the flake of hay.

Curious, I picked it up and examined it.

I read:

"...another leaf

....,one far away

....with gentle mist:

....with amethyst."

 

Drops of moisture were falling, the leaves on the bare trees springing to bright green life, a full "blood Moon" eclipse in what was then exactly twelve hours.

In awe, I copy the wording and then carefully tape the scrap into a journal with the description, fantasizing about the origin and author.

Well versed poets would have known it instantly, just a few words typed into my favorite search engine immediately yielded. "October" by Robert Frost. 

Not only was it a half day to the eclipse, it was a half a year away from the original poem.

October

By Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—

For the grapes’ sake along the wall. 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53084/october-56d23212a5b72