I stood like Ezra Pound
in a wood like a tree and I listened
to things one normally does not see
when running pell-mell to get by
the forest true.
I was like Robert Frost
all because I reveled in the leaves
laid before me: deep, coarse, unleveled;
a road barely traveled by I
and a few.
Rain Starry Forest
Posted: September 24, 1990 in PoetryTags: Ezra Pound, Forest, Road, Robert Frost
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