In quiet woods where frost has laid,
The world in white, a cold cascade,
Each branch adorned with crystal lace,
A silent song in winter’s embrace.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver glow,
The shadows dance upon the snow,
An echo of the poet’s rhyme,
In every flake, a trace of time.

The forest still, in frozen breath,
Whispers tales of life and death,
Where Robert’s words once carved the air,
Their essence lingers everywhere.

So walk with care through winter’s veil,
Hear the stories frost will tell,
For in the silence, truth is clear,
And Frost’s own spirit lingers near.