STOLEN, THOUGH BUSY.

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  • Sadness
    • ,
  • Death
    • ,
  • Loss

    STOLEN, THOUGH BUSY.

     My Birds Are Set To Hatch,
    When The Walls Came In,
    Killing All The Fowls.
       My Fruits Are Ripe For Plucking,
       When The Quelas Came,
       To Devour The Plant.
    My Cattles Are Heavy To Deliever,
    When The Flu Raided,
    Sending Them To Destruction.
       Friend, Your Life Is More Productive Now,
       When The Thief Of Live Came,
       Stealing You Away From Us!

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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.

    sparkmoore’s Poems (6)

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