A Fitting Crown

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  • Emotional

    A Fitting Crown


    What child is this that stalks me now,
    Wearing my death upon her brow?

    A fitting crown that I should wear,
    For leaving her abandoned there.

    Her heart is filled with hatred strong.
    My blood must flow to right the wrong.

    When will she find this weary soul
    Too tired to fight, and take control?

    I fight her now, but will I still
    The next time that she feels so real?


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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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