Robert Frost, Surely, Hates Me Now
First This...and now this one.
Perhaps someone would be generous enough to donate some sort of velocimeter, or spin counter, for Mr. Frost's headstone.
The Toad Not Shaken
Two toads emerged in my neighborhood,
Seeming as different, night to day,
Holding my int’rest, long I stood;
One looking less toad-like than it should
Rife with tendencies, it seemed, to splay.
Observing the other, as it were,
And no doubt owning fitted structure,
Neatly assembled, as toads prefer,
Less the victim of rattle, or stir,
Missing signs of aesthetic rupture.
One’s misfortune, the other’s blessing,
Their fate sealed firm in the hands of chance.
One toad minus the proper dressing;
Molecules disagreed, I’m guessing,
I doubt it attends the next toad dance.
One whole toad and amphibian pie
Just this side of the white picket fence.
Two toads emerged in my ‘hood, and I…
I took the one unravelled. Why?
For anatomical reference.
Your creative verse surely takes us down a road less taken!
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Perhaps one that most would prefer was left untrodden.
Thanks.
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The image that comes to mind is the author of Grey's Anatomy (whose name is Grey, I assume) having a pint with Robert Frost and the two of them deciding to poke some fun at Dr. Dolittle.
Great stuff here.
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Now that would be a trio to watch from across the pub, wouldn't it?
Thanks, Wolf.
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I usually prefer to take the toad less traveled (upon).
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Yes, low mileage toads are definitely the way to go. You're very wise.
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To tell the truth, I think Frost would be proud.
This is much better than any of the poetry I've written inspired by Frost's work. (Actually, I think "inspired" is pushing my luck.)
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I've read your poetry; this isn't even close. You write good stuff, I just play around.
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