In the quiet of the evening’s gentle embrace,
Where shadows dance and whispers trace,
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
Promises to keep, and dreams to reap.
Beneath the canopy of ancient trees,
Frost’s words float upon the breeze,
Telling tales of roads less traveled,
Life’s mysteries slowly unraveled.
A poet’s heart in nature’s frame,
Seeking solace, whispering his name,
With every step, a verse is born,
In winter’s chill or summer’s morn.
His legacy, a timeless glow,
In fields of gold and winter’s snow,
Frost’s poetry, a guiding light,
Through darkest nights and days so bright.