Tom Simard

Poetry, Music, and Prose

Our Mid-Month’s Poet: Robert Frost

A Late Walk by Robert Frost
When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words.

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

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2 thoughts on “Our Mid-Month’s Poet: Robert Frost

  1. How beautiful. I’ll have to add this poem to my other Robert Frost favorites: “The Road Not Taken” and “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” He really allows us to visualize being with nature and not taking it for granted. Thanks, Tom. ;-)

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