The Poet To Robert Frost

[mayneverhave]

There you are as a young man,
Emerging from the Baker Library
Into the crisp morning air
After a long, productive night.
An aspiring poet! Full of future and promise,
Vox clamantis in deserto!

Then years later,
When you looked up by chance at the constellations
And saw nothing but the planets, stars, and moon,
Deciding right then and there that you would not
Waste away your life in tired observation,
But rather drink deep from the Hippocrene
Until you are lush in exaltation.

Then as an old, respected man,
Disheveled strands of snow white hair,
And pockmarked skin, like leather furled round
Two round, still bright eyes,
In 1961 reading words you cannot see
But can only know.

Speaking to the whole nation.
You truly are their poet.
Because good fences really don't make
Good neighbors do they Robert?
Robert? Robert?

There, over the long stretch of New England snow
Forty-five years piled,
Near a tall, strong cedar perhaps,
You breathe that cool thin air,
And again, the strong scent of pine fills your nostrils.

[symphony]

There's something about that last stanza thats...wonderful.

[neptune's girl]

I love the third stanza, and "Disheveled strands of snow white hair," is my favorite line.
I'm from Connecticut and have always been drawn to the poetry of Robert Frost. Thanks for sharing this tribute. :)

[PrinceMyshkin]

There's something about the first, second, third fourth and fifth stanzas that I very much admire!