To celebrate the beginning of a new year here's a poem from our neighbor, Mr. Robert Frost, who lived, for a time, up the road in Derry.
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.'
From West-Running Brook [811 FRO] The artist who created the three woodcut print illustrations isn't credited in the book, but Wikipedia identifies the artist as J. J. Lankes.
The first Poetry Friday Round-Up of 2015 is taking place today at The Miss Rumphius Effect.