At Robert Frost’s farm, Franconia, New Hampshire
“When Robert Frost passed this stand of birch
each gray curl held his eye at word-point.
No rock but gave him pause. He’d reach to touch
it where it lay. Stones taught him to roam
by showing him where he’d been. Freedom
to go meant knowing when and where to stay.
-- From “Unlettered,’’ by Edward J. Ingebretsen