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Friday, November 30, 2007

Poetry Friday

In looking for a poem today, I stumbled upon this one by Robert Frost, and for some reason it seemed like a good one to share today.

Birches
by Robert Frost

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:


For the rest of the poem go here.
The Poetry Friday Round up is hosted by Two Writing Teachers.

3 comments:

Sara Latta said...

I love that poem--it's one of my favorites.

TadMack said...

I've always loved Frost's relationship with trees; this is one of my faves of his tree poetry.

Karen E. said...

I almost posted this one a few weeks back, Christine, when we had ice on the trees here. :-) Lovely. Thanks.