To Mr. Robert Frost

mikeschultz Tue Feb 07 2012, 07:38

I first learned of Mr. Robert Lee Frost
When I was just a boy, and he was still alive.
I remember feeling how special to learn
Of a living legend, instead of all the dead.

Living in South Florida, near Hialeah,
Scarce a hundred miles from Cuba,
I knew what lay just beyond the horizon.
We practiced “Duck and Cover” drills,

With heavy canvas blackout curtains
Pulled over the windows, curled up
Under our desks with our hands behind
Our heads and elbows over fearful faces.

Some of the younger boys and girls,
Would become frightened and cry,
As the teacher said, “Everything
will be all right; it’s just a drill, this time.”

The crisis came and went, and the
Grownups all cried and hugged, celebrating,
But, later, in late January, a tearful teacher
Stood and told us that Mr. Frost had died.

With a tear-strained voice and between sad smiles,
She told us of how Mr. Frost had been ill
But went to Old Russia to talk with Khrushchev
Of a plan, Modus Vivendi, a mode of living,

Agreeing to disagree in honorable
Competitions for the betterments of Mankind
Through peaceful pursuits in mutual
Composition of a new, more humane poetry.

We read his poems and wrote goodbyes
To a man we’d never meet, but one who had
So deeply touched our lives. I believe he
Helped me to reach my ninth birthday, in 1962.

Thank you, Mr. Frost.

Michael Schultz © May 25, 2008 (0850)