A few weeks ago I got a book about the wonderful poet Robert Frost, I started with it last night.
It got me from the first side and I couldn't stop for hours.
It is said:
The ordinary man lives by the creative spirit. He thinks in images and dreams in fantasy; he lives py poetry.
Yet he seems to distrust it. He clings to the notion that a poet is a queer and incompetent creature, a day-dreaming never-do-well, an eccentric trying to escape the business for the everyday world, a soft and coddled soul.
Almost the opposite is true.
I think Robert Frost isn't lost in dreams - for my part he suggests us to dream, and it isn't that bad I can tell you. :-)
This is one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost:
I had for my winter evening walk -
no one at all with whom to talk,
but I had the cottages in a row
up to their shining eyes in snow.
And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
of youthful forms and youthful faces.
I had such company outward bound
I went till there were no cottages found
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.
Over the snow my creaking feet
disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by our leave,
at ten o'clock of a winter eve.
Maybe I should go for a little walk, yes... I will do it.
Have a wonderful Sunday friends, enjoy this wonderful time!