In the quiet hush of nature’s grace,
Where paths diverge in a yellow wood,
Echoes of Frost linger in gentle place,
Whispering tales where he once stood.

Beneath the boughs, where shadows play,
The poet’s dreams softly unfold,
In verses woven like the break of day,
Stories of life and paths untold.

The frost-kissed leaves in morning’s light,
Dance to the rhythm of his pen,
Capturing moments of fleeting delight,
In the heart of woods and glen.

As seasons shift and time moves on,
His words remain, a timeless song,
A journey through nature’s gentle dawn,
Where Robert Frost’s spirit belongs.