Arriving in 1874, Robert was born more Frost than snow,
And yet he made a genius poem of watching snow in fields, you know.
The thing about him and his work, you see,
Is the quiet observation, the detail, the sensibility.
He could look at stone walls badly in need of mending,
And see two neighbors, working together, and sharing a satisfactory ending.
And when two roads in a yellow wood he surmises,
The one less traveled leads to four Pulitzer Prizes.
This is a poet you need to meet before you are dead.
Everyone thrives with a little Frost bestowed on their head.
*Note*
This is a poem about a poet written in couplets, pairs of rhyming lines, the poor man’s building blocks of poetry. Please notice that this poem, written by a pretty terrible poet (hey, at least I’m pretty) is about one of the greatest poets that ever lived. Back in 1969, though Frost was recently no longer living, I had to memorize and recite Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken,” I was one of only three seventh graders who did it correctly. Later, as a teacher, I would make speech classes memorize and recite it too, though they only had to get one stanza correct to pass it. Putting yourself in that poem by reading it aloud is a mystical experience that transforms you forever into a more aware and awakened human being.
Catch a Falling Star 