March
Thursday 29 March 2012 photo 1/1
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V. THE PULSE
It was to lonely for her there,
And to wild,
And since there was but two of them,
And no child,
And work was little in the house,
She was free,
And followed where he furrowed field,
Or felled tree,
She rested on a log and tossed,
The fresh chips,
With a song only to herself
on her lips,
And once she went to break a bough
Of black alder.
She strayed so far she scarcely heard when he called her.
And didn't answer, didn't speak
Or return.
She stood then she ran and hid
In the fern.
He never found her though he looked everywhere,
And he asked at her mothers house
was she there.
Sudden and swift as light as that
The ties gave,
And he learned of finalities
Beside the grave.- Robert Frost
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