Gathering Leaves

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 race elude my embrace following over my arms and into my face

I may load and unload again and again till i fill the whole set and what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight and since they grew duller from contact with earth next to nothing for colour

Next to nothing for use but the crop is a crop and who's to say where the harvest shall stop?