Reading Frost As Night Falls

Reading Frost as night falls.
The poet calls
To me, from the previous century.
“Relevant?” Yes, but how I hate that word
For is not the song of bird
Or getting lost midst the dark tree
Simply beauty in poetry,
Part of Frost’s heart
Which lives on in me
As I sit in this darkening
Room, hearkening to Robert’s poetry?

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5 thoughts on “Reading Frost As Night Falls

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