The Pasture
by Robert Frost
I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I shan't be gone long. -- You come too.


I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I shan't be gone long. -- You come too.



Headed to the public library, I am returning a box-load of books checked out to undergird my April Poetry Month postings. But just like Cindy and Carmon, I still have one more I want to highlight. This Frost is just the perfect invitation to enjoy the change of the season.

I think I would have like to have come along with him.


Photo credits to my cyberfriend, Jean, whose pictures of her farm and family I really enjoy.