Friday, December 21, 2007
Although there is no snow
our rutted puddles are twice frozen.
Walking into the face of wind,
I am longing for evening.
I imagine the quiet woods
cuddled up along the lake.
Far out from the village,
in the silence of a solitary farmhouse
one woman knits socks furiously
for six pairs of familiar feet.
Miss Rumphius inspired this poem from me today, with her Monday Poetry Stretch. She suggested the end words for the lines above, which were taken from a well-loved Robert Frost poem. I've tried to echo the feelings I get in reading Frost's poem as a knitting woman.
The Friday Poetry round up today is being hosted by Gina at AmoXicalli.