Robert Frost

No, that was not a picture embargo yesterday. What happened is that I woke up to find my computer had crashed during the night, and did not want to boot up. I spent a few minutes trying to get it to work, and then had to get off to work.

OK, today's picture is of Robert Frost, another famous poet.He lived from the 1870's to the 1960's, so he saw lots in his life, and he wrote lots of poetry. Below I feature one of his poems, Mowing. To be honest with you, I don't get it. Maybe you will enjoy it.

MOWING

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,

And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.

What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;

Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,

Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound--

And that was why it whispered and did not speak.

It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,

Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:

Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak

To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,

Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers

(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.

The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows.

My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.