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Poetry: Robert Frost

The Arm­ful
For every parcel I stoop down to seize
I lose some oth­er off my arms and knees,
And the whole pile is slip­ping, bot­tles, buns,
Extremes too hard to com­pre­hend at once.
Yet noth­ing I should care to leave behind.
With all I have to hold with hand and mind
And heart, if need be, I will do my best.
To keep their build­ing bal­anced at my breast.
I crouch down to pre­vent them as they fall;
Then sit down in the mid­dle of them all.
I had to drop the arm­ful in the road
And try to stack them in a bet­ter load.

By Robert Frost

3 comments

  1. Antoine says:

    A very deep, thought­ful piece of poem. I love it. This is my first time here but now i have a rea­son to be pass­ing by for some poet­ry.

  2. cyn says:

    I’m glad you enjoyed it, Antoine! I hadn’t seen that one ’til yes­ter­day, and it real­ly stuck with me.

    Namas­te,
    Cyn

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