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"Robert Frosts', friend, Edward Thomas was an indecisive fellow, until that one day they took the other road Edward wanted, and of course, Robert's piece was not Edward's choice to say the least, so when Edward read Robert's piece, he joined the war and died two years later. 'Twas so unforgivable, his sister Jeanie/Florence knew of this and how her brother suffered so and much she tried to enlighten him until her death. So nobody truly knows if Robert's hunger was truly fed--my take on this ... poignant story," ... by the Poet


The granules of misplaced salt waft at the mercy
parting a cerulean ocean 'ere the receptive one
buoyant compliment entertain breaths of air
as selective fancy cascades yield upon 
the contours of his countenance

A standpoint dropped off an equal claim of briny air
an errancy fair befalls stupefied faraway perusal
mystified acts by his reciprocating demeanor 
preeminent femininity of old legal tender
unladylike abandons the Boardwalk

Some midday shade looms stealthily e'er nigh him so 
"Robbie," a voice beholds a loss who veers truly lost
"It's me Robbie," "Jeanie?" "Oh, It's been ages!"
"Oh my first name, never in a day, Robbie?"
"Flo, is that you?" "I said that'll visit."
"Anyway, Kennebec isn't too far."

"They said you proceeded a stroll, your daily pattern."
"You be a bit more wary, Robbie, up in years now."
"I reflected on how you've missed poor Edward."
"Sad he died shortly after, he'd be proud."
"Lately, the hospital's been worried."

"You've been roaming the corridors at twilight, Robbie."
"They say your sense's been getting readily lost."
"I was told you're searching for something ...
or someone, and that you're disturbed,
get uneasy, it's unlike you, Robbie!"

"What's the worry?" "I've not a single thought in me!
Flo, I fear I've penned my life away, heaped in
dustbins, I while of reality strewn apiece ...
my life is scattered, but nay, begone ...
ages past, filled and emptied, o'er

My scribbled past, Flo, from dustbins hauled away, 
liquefying inks convergence insights on paper, 
scratches, scrawls, doodles, impetus ... alit,
between the lines and the silence, finds 
me a blank space, I miss him, and I
need so much to thank him, Flo."

"Robbie, he knows, Edward's stillness evolved your
voice, Robbie. We were all very pleased to have 
heard it. I believe he was more so cheerful
than any of us. Robbie, I'll take my leave
of you." "Oh what manners, I've naught
inquired of your sons." "Your dear 
nephews are quite, well, and
needed worry about you."

"It is you, Flo?" "Now none of that ... (she kisses 
his cheek) ... I'll see you shortly ... Robert."
"Oh, we back to first names again?"
"You are the celebrity in the
family, TaTa, Robert."
"Goodbye, Flo ..."

"Eh, what's he's on about?" "I don't know, I wasn't
paying attention!" "He's talking to himself again,
somebody named, Flo." "Well, that would be
proper, that's his sister." "Maybe she came
for a visit with him to say her name." "Well
that is a bit of magic, it is during the
Great Depression?--when she died."
"Oh, he was talking to himself?

Well, his lunch is all ready, I'll set it up and get it 
to him straightway. Here you go sir, this nicely
made luncheon for you," "I need to thank 
Edward." "His name's Ralph sir." "Who?"
"The cook who made the lunch, his
name's  Ralph. An old-timer here
and there's been no Edward,
mayhaps he's on that road
not taken, eh, the great
Mr. Robert Frost sir!"
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