In silence, the woods stand still,
A mirror to the poet’s will.
The snowflakes fall, a gentle shroud,
Whispering farewells, soft but proud.
His words, like frost on autumn leaves,
Capture moments time retrieves.
In every verse, a life portrayed,
In nature’s arms, his soul conveyed.
The paths he walked, now kissed by snow,
Speak tales of hearts and minds aglow.
Through fields and forests, night and day,
His spirit wanders, finds its way.
Though death has claimed the poet’s breath,
His legacy outlives his death.
In every line, a timeless art,
Robert Frost lives in every heart.