One hot summer afternoon
I made the mistake of reading
An anthology of Robert Frost poems.
I sat in the front yard,
Stretched out in a lawn chair
And reveled in his cool
New England fall.
When I was small,
My mother used to read to me--
“After Apple Picking”
“Two Tramps in Mud-time”
“The Road Less Traveled”--
and I would loose myself
in the quiet ebb and flow
of the poet’s verse.
I always wanted to be able
To see the world the way
Robert Frost did.
The beauty,
The magic in the simple things.
So on this particular summer afternoon
I took a walk through my town
Trying to see the world as he did.
Looking for that nothing in particular
That would spark beauty
In my heart.
I walked for miles, searching,
Longing, looking; and returned home
Full, but not quite complete
And cried to myself

Because I could not write it down.