Looking for a sunset bird in winter. Robert Frost
The west was getting out of gold,
the breath of air had died of cold,
when shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.
In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
was singing in it sweet and swift.
No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
and that was all there was to see
in going twice around the tree.
From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a Crystal chill
was only adding frost to snow
as gilt to gold that wouldn’t show.
A brush had left a crooked stroke
of what was either cloud or smoke
from north to south across the blue;
a piercing little star was through.
Might I NOT have RA?
Just when I thought I,d got this disease licked.........
Minka sent me this as he thought you would like a laugh
