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
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