Beneath the arching boughs where shadows play,
The whispers of the woods call softly through the day.
In the quiet corners where his musings roam,
Frost finds the echoes of a timeless home.
He wanders through the snow, the fields, the night,
Where nature holds its mysteries tight.
His words, like leaves, drift on the breeze,
Painting landscapes with poetic ease.
Two roads diverge in golden light, a choice to make,
In every step, a legacy to shape and wake.
His gentle voice, a guide through frost and flame,
Captures the heart, ignites a timeless flame.
With every line, a journey’s start,
In simple scenes, he finds the art.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
In Frostâs embrace, we dream and leap.