Beneath the stars, his whispers lay,
A poet’s voice, now far away,
In fields of snow, his footsteps fade,
Yet in our hearts, his words cascade.

The woods are quiet, paths untread,
Where once his thoughtful lines were spread,
His pen has ceased, his ink runs dry,
But still, his spirit fills the sky.

Through birch and bough, his echoes ring,
In nature’s song, his soul does sing,
A simple man, with depth profound,
In every verse, his truth is found.

Though seasons change and time moves on,
His legacy, a timeless song,
In every frost, in every fire,
We find the spark of Frost’s desire.