Robert Frost

Born on March 26th 1874 in San Francisco Where the streets are filled with dining alfresco At age eleven his father passed Then relocated to Lawrence Mass. From the hills and the pastures blowing free His words ran so deep and scrupulously dreamy In the 1900’s he began forward to Derry New Hampshire Where the broken apple limbs made fair bushfire Sweet fields swayed and the autumn sighed Robert was devoted to nature and the great outside Blooming vivid colors in the musty breeze Burnt amber firewood rests in columns and is seized Frozen grounds and lanterns aglow Heaps of clad earth dancing around the spruce in a row Where impulsive minds were left to wander A glorious view of the silvery birch around yonder There a hunger grew like no other, and emerged In the myths of his seclusion inspiration ran with an urge So there he traveled the courses On posed dapple-grey horses Spent time in his teaching Always in hopes of reaching Though suffered many a personal tragedy in succession He later settled in Ripton Vermont and continued his profession Frost received the Pulitzer Prize for poetry four times in his life Having succeeding many children and a wife Robert Frost died on January 29, 1963, having had four children And six grandchildren, and eleven great-grandchildren He is and will always be regarded a master-poet and writer Leaving piles of verse for all to read thus making life brighter