The Frost Of Words Poem by Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken

Robert Frost walked where the woods deepened,
where paths divided in quiet rebellion,
and every step carried the weight of decision.
His name, as steady as the seasons,
etched itself into the stone walls of time.

He knew the soil of New England,
its hard edges and stubborn roots.
Frost labored with hands and words,
turning the land into lines,
each poem a field he tilled,
each thought a harvest of truth.

Some found his work simple,
pastoral whispers on the wind.
But Frost wove the fabric of the human heart,
its fractures and fissures,
its longing to understand the unknown.

'What next? 'his verses seemed to ask,
as he stood at the edge of choice.
And we, like travelers,
followed the roads he left behind,
guided by the sound of his name
in the silence of the woods.