In the quiet of the woods, he wandered,
Where paths diverged, and dreams pondered.
Frost’s pen danced with nature’s grace,
Capturing moments time cannot erase.

The snowy fields, a canvas wide,
Where thoughts of solitude abide.
His words, like whispers through the trees,
Brought warmth to winter’s chilling breeze.

On roads less traveled, he found his way,
In verses, he let his spirit sway.
Echoes of mountains, rivers’ flow,
In Frost’s realm, the world did grow.

With gentle eyes and steadfast heart,
He painted life as a timeless art.
In every line, his presence lingers,
Touching souls with poetic fingers.