Inspiration Mind Spirit

Gentler Times

When was the last time you read a poem?

I have a book of the poems of Robert Frost on a bookshelf near my bed, but most of the time it collects dust, and the poems inside go unread.  Maybe you have a similar tome resting unopened, sitting somewhere in your house.  Sad.

I’m not sure kids are learning poems today. Well, maybe the homeschoolers or those in AP classes are.  For the most part, I think we’ve lost touch of the beauty of poetry.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m no poet and I don’t recite poems to others.

I never really spent a lot of time studying the work of poets when I was in school. Too busy learning other things (or having fun).  But I do love poetry, and I have a few that I can recite from memory.  All of them were written by Robert Frost.  My favorite, The Road Not Taken, continues to have deep meaning for me, and its rich words flow through my mind with some regularity.  Am I where I’m supposed to be?

There’s a beautiful snow coming down in my area tonight, and I have some time to crack open my book of Frost’s poems.  Sitting with a cup of tea, I flipped through the table of contents and found another favorite, Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening.

This poem is a reminder of a gentler time in our nation’s history.  No mass murders taking place in grocery store parking lots.  Civility was the rule of the day, and people’s neighbors were also friends they could count on.

I tend not to dwell on the past, but with all this craziness going on, it’s hard not to wish for gentler times.  In the end, it has to start with us.  We can’t change others unless we’re willing to change ourselves.

It has to start with us and how we treat ourselves and those around us.  Are gentle, kind and caring adjectives people use when describing you?

That’s something to ponder tonight, whether it’s snowing outside your house or not.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village, though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.


My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.


He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

By seedthrower1

I'm passionate about helping people realize that God wants to make something new of them and bring about a permanent transformation in their lives: body, mind, and spirit.

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