Please read the notes first.
Tally time, conclusion forming,
"Some day," grown nearer.
Tree's longest branch,
Coming to reach, reaching to come.
Soon to beat and plead upon
Cottage window and door.
Rooted whisperer, jealous reminder,
Revered warning, timely sounding,
Your time of Reckless Choice arriving
Destination's unnamed coordinates, uncoordinated,
Journey from wherefrom to wherever, unrecorded,
Observed by silenced overlording sky,
Testimony of the seeing voiceless clouds,
All nought and to no avail, destination head-shaking,
These white witnesses,
Muted, deaf, dumbfounded,
Knowing, yet incapable of telling
State of sated steady staid,
Sundered by sharp silent sounds,
Reckless surpasses Riskless,
Life is a recitation, an enunciation
When my less to say is soon none,
My Reckless Choice, now chosen,
Unforced but enforced,
I shall be gone
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
Please read the notes first.
Tally time, conclusion forming,
"Some day," grown nearer.
Tree's longest branch,
Coming to reach, reaching to come.
Soon to beat and plead upon
Cottage window and door.
Rooted whisperer, jealous reminder,
Revered warning, timely sounding,
Your time of Reckless Choice arriving
Destination's unnamed coordinates, uncoordinated,
Journey from wherefrom to wherever, unrecorded,
Observed by silenced overlording sky,
Testimony of the seeing voiceless clouds,
All nought and to no avail, destination head-shaking,
These white witnesses,
Muted, deaf, dumbfounded,
Knowing, yet incapable of telling
State of sated steady staid,
Sundered by sharp silent sounds,
Reckless surpasses Riskless,
Life is a recitation, an enunciation
When my less to say is soon none,
My Reckless Choice, now chosen,
Unforced but enforced,
I shall be gone
The Sound of Trees
BY ROBERT FROST
I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
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