Martin Swords Poems
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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 ...
White steeples over branches.
White houses made of wood
At home among the trees.
Tall grass and meadows,
Stonewall homes to scampering things.
Sound of cars, grass-cutting people,
In quiet calm Connecticut.