Welcome to the Tuesday Platform: A cup of Poem
Another month closes in on itself, - we step towards the last of the last - weeks to go before another calendar year picks up its skirts and bustles itself into the closet.
and offer us a cup of poem:
But first, to quench your thirst this most wonderful taste:
A Late Walk - by Robert Frost
When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.
Now, waste not, want not - choose your poem - and share it here.
Link up directly to the specific poem on your blog that you wish us to read.
Come back within the next few days to visit and share your thoughts with what fellow Toads, friends and travelers have offered to quench our thirst. Remember, in order to receive, you must give - and all comers, including "late to the party" are welcomed.
One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.