In the quiet woods where whispers dwell,
Beneath the canopy of ancient trees,
A path unfolds, a tale to tell,
Of Robert Frost and gentle breeze.

The birches sway with graceful ease,
As shadows dance in moonlit glow,
His verses weave through rustling leaves,
In nature’s arms, our hearts we know.

The road diverges, choices vast,
In solitude, his thoughts align,
A journey through his wooded past,
Where life and art entwine.

The seasons turn, a timeless song,
In every line, a truth profound,
Through Frost’s words, we wander long,
In poetry, our souls are found.