A few years ago I visited Robert Frost's home in Vermont. Its now a rather sterile museum. My thoughts I wrote then, follow ... Trying to keep, out of respect for him, to Frost's rhyme and meter.

A View of Frost

I stopped by Frost's farmstead today
To see what that old house would say
About a poet long revered
Who owned this lonely bit of clay

Trimmed and cut the yard stood bare
Of old and rusted farming gear
No hoe nor rake or plow was seen
A Sharon France not a Rockwell scene

Old Frost must feel quite annoyed
To see his workplace so employed
His home was ever a working farm
He his family and friends enjoyed

Now a shrine stark and cold
No laughing children or friendly soul
No normalcy of cluttered desk
Just detritus of a broken mold

Behind a sturdy Vermont barn
A pile of rocks and path well worn
Testify to his farmer's work
Each Spring's fresh crop of Frost heaved stones

Now that is where his heart is seen
Not in some shrine and postcard scene
But a pile of stones cold and hard
He put there one by one unseen

Poetry by josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2019-02-13 at 01:55

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
I liked that you honored his style, while acknowledging that whatever he was at his earthiest core, has been lost to his iconic and commercial current status. Still, I would go to the museum to gather what feeling I could.

Well done!

bibek adhikari The PoetBay support member heart!
Reminds me of Frost's 'Stopping by the Woods ...' The rhyme, the meter, the cadence: everything feels like a homage to the poet.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Nicely done, Joe.

This is a very fine effort indeed. I commend especially the effort at maintaining the metre, adding sinew and strength to the rhyme. Beautifully articulated. Bookmarked.