The Poet's Wife

I have taken a piece I wrote called, "A Wandering", and condensed it into a poem for a poetry Workshop that I have been taking at The Robert Frost homestead.  I do not consider myself a poet, but the practice of writing poetry does train the ear for rhythm, and forces spareness, the latter skill I feel that I am much in need of refining!  I hope that you enjoy this piece about Elinor and Robert...

I watch you from the window as you go,

To court the starlings and the dying day,

I love to see you chase the wayward glow,

The orangey light that pulls, that paves your way.

Your coat, it flaps just like a swallow's wings,

I laugh to see you so bewitched and free,

Your senses tutored by the smallest things,

You seek an answer, what it means to be.

At supper time you come in through the shed,

The smell of pine trees hiding in your clothes,

You rub your hands together till they're red,

And tell me of the startled buck and does.

I listen as I serve a heaping bowl,

Your eyes ablaze with all you found out there,

Your lighted face unmasks your boyish soul,

So much, I'm drawn to stroke your rowdy hair.

Tonight you'll find the words with just the weight,

The words that breathe the softest fairy rhyme,

That tell us how all nature paints our fate,

Such tender strokes that mark the pass of time.