I thought of Robert Frost today as I
went to my pile and picked its
bits. The pile that sits,
not left like his,
In this of course it plays its part
to warm me twice
- no even thrice:
the picking up
the burning up
the thankful, glowing heart.
I would have liked to meet you, Bob,
I think we might have shared
A love of things that others miss.
You noticed and you wondered deep,
But most of all you cared.