American Life in Poetry, Column 027

by Ted Kooser, U. S. Poet Laureate

In this lovely poem by Angela Shaw, who lives in Pennsylvania, we hear a voice of wise counsel: Let the young go, let them do as they will, and admire their grace and beauty as they pass from us into the future.

Children in a Field

They don’t wade in so much as they are taken. 
Deep in the day, in the deep of the field, 
every current in the grasses whispers hurry 
hurry, every yellow spreads its perfume 
like a rumor, impelling them further on. 
It is the way of girls. It is the sway 
of their dresses in the summer trance-- 
light, their bare calves already far-gone 
in green. What songs will they follow? 
Whatever the wood warbles, whatever storm 
or harm the border promises, whatever 
calm. Let them go. Let them go traceless 
through the high grass and into the willow-- 
blur, traceless across the lean blue glint 
of the river, to the long dark bodies 
of the conifers, and over the welcoming 
threshold of nightfall.

Reprinted from “Poetry,” September, 2004, Vol. 184, No. 5, by permission of the author. Poem copyright (c) 2004 by Angela Shaw. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.