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aw granny that is so nice, i have copied and pasted to my best mates and family you so nice a person i will look for a poem to give to you. you are so nice stay on wikki

I really like this poem ,and so so true well done for putting this on Amaterasu

Robert Frost.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.

The Road Not Taken


TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Beautiful!

Really nice poem ,ChrisKay!

LOGGERHEADS by FiremanFil

A myriad of sparkles danced, like lightning
Though in harmony with the gently-flowing stream
Reflecting in the ripples on the water
An hypnotic invitation-stay and dream.

Above us, as we lay upon a blanket
Formed by millions of dry October leaves
A sunbeam filtered with a friendly greeting
Through the gently-bowing branches of the trees.

As I gazed in wondrous silence at the ceiling
Of this miracle of nature, clean and blue
I marvelled at the sense of utter freedom
And the stillness-broken only by the view.

I rose up and left you sleeping by the river
Knowing you'd be well-protected; safe and warm
This was not a place to fear for your welfare
More a haven-peaceful shelter from all harm.

So I wandered off, exploring every corner
More amazed with every other step I took
Brown and yellow; gold and green in joyous riot
And the crackle of the parchment underfoot.

Soon I clambered up the steepening escarpment
Then, atop, my joy was numbed; before my eyes
In the middle distance, ravaging the valley
Stood three sentinels; three blocks of flats; high-rise.

Lord, I fail to come to terms with the encroachment
Of the concrete world upon this pretty scene
Why must man be such a predator on beauty?
Why must woman force him to destroy his dream?

When you wake up, I'll be gone, but do not tarry
There'll be no need for concern, my faithful friend
If you climb up to the summit of Moel Famau
You will hear me calling you upon the wind.

Very nice,Firemanphil!

Fil, you're back. Great!

This poem is oh so lovely. You are very poetically talented.

welcome back Phil, we missed the laugh!

Welcome back Fil, you where missed.
Illegitimus non carborundum.

Another by Robert Frost, darker this time.

Bereft

Where had I heard this wind before
Change like this to a deeper roar?
What would it take my standing there for,
Holding open a restive door,
Looking down hill to a frothy shore?
Summer was past and day was past.
Somber clouds in the west were massed.
Out in the porch's sagging floor,
Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,
Blindly struck at my knee and missed.
Something sinister in the tone
Told me my secret must be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God.

And finally, for now, another Robert Frost

My November Guest

MY Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

great poem firemanfil great to see you back

Easy to see why you like Robert Frost. Both lovely but this one particularly appaeals. Sad as it is, it's just so explicit,the way in which he paints his picture with beautiful language and phrases. Thanks Chriskay, much appreciaed.