a walk at Robert Frost’ old farm

 

 

heavy snow was falling

as I walked the New Hampshire

woods of Robert Frost’ old farm

 

I had been here before

in the fall when

the leaves were splashes

of color hanging on the branches

 

now the leaves were gone

the snow was resting

where the leaves had been

 

in the distance I

caught a glimpse of movement

between the snow flakes

 

but it was gone before

I could blink my snowy eyelids

 

I walked further thinking of

wonderful words written

on this farm

words that have lingered

through many snowfalls

 

walking deeper into whiteness

again I saw movement

 

more vivid this time

something I had seen

in one of his poems

 

it was an old man sitting

on a sleigh stopped

in the snowy woods

speaking words that I could

not hear, but the horse understood

 

the old man, horse and sleigh

faded away through the falling snow

to a place miles away

miles away