Treasures

In the past eight years I have really begun to appreciate poetry written by poets of the past. Such as Shakespear, Robert and Elizabeth Browning and now Robert Frost. My husband stopped by a yard sale and noticed a small poetry book. Green but faded by time, the pages slightly so yellow and worn, and just this morning began to read one of its poems, The Road Not Taken.

As I listened to him struggle to put the sentences together in rhyme as poets intended, I recognized its words, line by line. A poem popular through the years, and its lines belted out so many times in schools, on television, and many other ways.

I finally asked to see my gift, and would read its words in its intended form. I began to flip through the pages, going from front to back; then back to front. Noticing that their was a name on the front inside cover, Robert Frost, Amherst, and then a few more pages forward a handwritten poem, Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening. Curiosity took me to the next few pages that would tell me in what year was this published, and what printed edition it would be.

To my surprise, this small pocket book as they called them in those days, was a first edition, and had been Robert Frost very own book. He had a habit of writing poems in the first few pages of books, and a recent discovery of an unpublished poem was discovered written in one of his personal friends books.

As I begin to read all twelve poems that represent the twelve months of the calendar year, I can in vision what he is seeing at that point and time. His extra poem and the fact that he wrote his name and the college, Amherst, at where he was teaching at the time, make me think this was his very own personal book.

I will treasure this gift from my loving husband who wishes to shower me with his own poetry, feeling that words do not come as easily as mine, but his love is poetry enough for me!