Call of Frost

Frost calls to me like a comforting bed
to lay my head in the softness of his words
and imagine a world sometime from now
when I too took a road in the woods.
My heart bent
my heart swayed
I could not take the one others made
instead I saw the woods themselves,
trod a path through them.
And where Frost gently tread on
less fallen leaf
I took no other path
save the one of my own feet.

Perhaps and however
When days are old
warm and sullen
I’ll take to wondering
should my life have differed,
as Frost waned in latter days,
had I not traversed on a course
would my life had been as brilliant or
as live-ly?
Alas, neither of us will tell
we are were we are
no fortune to inlighten
as all roads lead to and
away from somewhere
never to tread in a moment
again the path we didn’t take
when the path we took
has now been.

So, I sigh, as the chill of winter
moves to spring
I know more roads will
meet with me.
and when the wood
or rock or glen does lift its
beautiful countenance  and call
When wind dances
and soft rain
dares to breathe on
dew strewn grass and
rivers steam
I will step from convention
conversation and dougt
and let my heart
go where Nature

For that, as Frost says,
will make all the difference.

::speak peace and tread on::


3 thoughts on “Call of Frost”

  1. “Frost calls to me like a comforting bed”
    unto this day the road has led !
    I really enjoyed your poem, well crafted!
    “I chose the road into the sun, but the path just ends where I’d begun”
    from my poem Crossroads.

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