Martin Swords Poems
A Walk In The Woods With Robert Frost
Overcast but warm,
The day dry, unusually.
Walking the woods with the dogs
As many times before.
Lucy and Tig, away in the rough dark deep,
Yipping with the scent of deer, excited.
Ruby, river scrambling, biting
At the bogwater, wagging, from the shoulders back
Along the old familiar track, into
The clearing where the roads diverge.
I stopped and stood. Which way to go?
Think of another Poet, and roads not taken.
Yes, I’ve been here before. This way I came.
That way I saw a squirrel once.
And down that way a badger
Straight on, the ...
To A Crow
Who loves you
But another Crow.
Blessed with ugly grace,
And coal scuttle call.
Strut like funeral folk
In suit of mourning,
Condemned to deal in death.
We cannot all be peacocks