He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff’s talus on the other side,
And then in the far-distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush-and that was all.
-Robert Frost
It's still Wednesday poem day--I didn't have time to look up something novel for today, but it was only a matter of time before Robert Frost made an appearance, anyway, and this seemed appropriate. I did see deer on the island, as well--it has one of the largest populations of Virginian white-tailed deer in New Zealand. Or something like it.
1 comment:
Kari!
Hello Friend.
It looks beautiful. Thanks for including pictures. I hope that you plan on putting some up in the apartment next year. :)
Camping and hiking. I'm jealous.
I'm in Joellah's room working on Linguistics homework instead.
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