In Memory of Robert Frost

In woods embraced by whispers soft and chill,
I tread the path where solitude distills.
A waning sun casts shadows long and deep,
As twilight's cloak descends, a secret keep.

The weary traveler, burdened by his plight,
I wander forth in dim and hallowed light.
Where verdant moss bedecks the forest floor,
A sacred haven, I forevermore explore.

Amidst the trees, their branches reaching high,
I hear the echoes of a lonesome sigh.
A symphony of solitude and grace,
Resounds within this tranquil, hallowed space.

The frost-kissed air, a breath of winter's might,
Envelopes all, a blanket pure and white.
With every step, the world becomes serene,
A silent dance, a waltz amidst the green.

The birch trees sway, their whispers fill the air,
And all the worries, troubles, and despair,
Are lifted, lost upon the gentle breeze,
As nature's balm restores the soul with ease.

Through woods I roam, in search of solace deep,
A respite from the burdens that I keep.
In Robert Frost's immortal footsteps trod,
I find the peace, the solace of a god.

For in these woods, where silence reigns supreme,
I find myself, my essence in a dream.
A sanctuary where my spirit's free,
Embraced by nature's tranquil symphony.

So let me walk this path of whispers low,
And let my troubled heart and mind bestow
Their worries to the ever-listening trees,
And find the solace there that truly frees.