The Write Sisters turn again and again to Robert Frost. Is it something about being a kindred New England spirit? Or is it simply because Frost lived so long and published so many poems that we have so much to choose from?
I have another reason. I live less than 10 minutes away from Robert Frost farm in Derry. I can see what Robert Frost saw, and perhaps feel the same emotions, as I walk the paths in back of the barn. That little bit of connection brings me back to Frost.
Here's a rather bittersweet little poem of his:
Come InReaders can take whatever meaning they want from this poem. The struggle between the darkness and the light in human nature. Impending death, either natural or by one's own hand. I prefer to see it as a celebration of the inner spirit of both the bird, who sings despite not quite as safe as he could be upon roosting, and the man, who prefers to gaze at the stars rather than be safe indoors. Have a great weekend and go outside to look at the stars!
As I came to the edge of the woods,
Now if it was dusk outside,
Inside it was dark.
Too dark in the woods for a bird
By sleight of wing
To better its perch for the night,
Though it still could sing.
The last of the light of the sun
That had died in the west
Still lived for one song more
In a thrush's breast.
Far in the pillared dark
Thrush music went--
Almost like a call to come in
To the dark and lament.
But no, I was out for stars:
I would not come in.
I meant not even if asked,
And I hadn't been.
This week's Poetry Friday Round-Up is found at Carol's Corner.
Photo by Birdfreak.com