I'm running out for Easter weekend, so had to quickly fall back on my old favorite -- Robert Frost. The first time I read this poem I was shocked by the ending. I was young, and I didn't know poems could be sad before that.
"Out, Out --"
by Robert Frost
The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
Go here for the rest of the poem. Click on the audio link to hear it read with a good New England accent.