We sat in her warmly lit living room, eating, laughing, then reading Robert Frost poetry. One from our evening's readings stuck in my mind, and here it is for you.
Peril of Hope
It is right in there
betwixt and between
the orchard bare
and the orchard green,
when the boughs are right
in a flowery burst
of pink and white,
that we fear the worst.
For there's not a clime
but at any cost
will take that time
for a night of frost.
Lovely, lovely Robert Frost.
1 comment:
That sounds like a simply beautiful evening! Thanks for sharing the poem.
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