Memories Of Robert Frost Poem by John Rickell

Memories Of Robert Frost



The path bent its way through the wood
I'd had a choice some yards back,
The fork, (was it the same?)
Left and right
Just like the hay-fork I carried.
I'd found it further back.
The thick and solid handle
Of the early path, now two
One brown with mud
The other flat and green
Strolled before.
It was winter.

Who had thrown away the fork?
It had been there a long time
The handle black with mould.
February now,
Had it been discarded last fall?
(A strange tool to find
In two thousand five
With its mechanisations.
A break-down perhaps?)
Chucking bales on a cart hard work
I could have thrown it away,
But I hate waste.

The sky was blue and steely
Could see it through
The silhouette branches
It was three.....
The sun shone through the trunks
Darkness some time away
So I took the muddy path.......
Something wrong with the green
What did the others know?
Only an inch of rain this month
There'd been five the last.

The hollow path, still damp,
Slipped its way between
The shallow banks
Which promised spring and yellow.
Above, the khaki green
Of nervous buds,
Telling of an early spring
Could just be seen......
Winter afternoons so silent.

I was alone. Or was I?
I knew from the 'prints
Someone, or ones, walked before,
And there was time for those behind.
Ofcourse the trees could give support
I could always lean....
At least awhile.

Looking up, redundant mistletoes
evergreen, viable only once a year.
The path on the woodland edge
The centre too dense to walk,
birds sang joy, defiant,
Safe from hawks and me.

‘Follow me home
I have tables aload with food
Boxes dry and square
Better than those ragged nests
You exhaust yourselves for days
And stick with mud
(But of course they are
Square and painted green
And not in a wood)
I love your wood, but do not envy
My home is warm....
The shops a yard away’

I began this walk a time back
There's been no rush
even so it's been too quick
Four weeks and spring will come
(The corn shows green)
In the fall I shall return
To feel the autumn sun,
See gold and ginger leaves
Rowan-red and chestnut brown
Un-zip my coat, left home the gloves
This winter wood too cold.

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