A Ten Mile Drive
A TEN MILE DRIVE
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I walked a country road once
In New England, in October.
In a gorgeous colored paradise
You’d think you were not sober.
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A car approached, my thumb went out
He stopped. I boarded, saw the man,
And nearly tumbled over.
That craggy face, that shock of hair.
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T’was Robert Frost who’s driving.
Yes, Frost himself. Get in, he said.
And so began a ten-mile ride
I’ll recall with pleasure till I’m dead.
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So fitting was his presence there
In the land he wrote about
He fit, like gloves, the Yankee scene
Appropriate, no doubt.
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We chatted just like old friends do,
The miles flew by, the clock had run.
We got to town, I shook his hand.
He said goodbye, the ride was done.
-
How many times in decades since
I rode that ten mile drive
With the great Yankee Catullus
And ride again, I shall, as long as I’m alive.
Copyright © Joseph Ress | Year Posted 2022
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