The Mockingbird Came Piping . . .
by
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DERRY WOODS AT FROST’S FARM
The lovely trees of grace provide
A show while on the wind they ride.
They wave, “Come in, come over here,
Come by the pasture spring, draw near.”
The spring is brown from mud within,
Filled by heaven’s rains to the brim.
Meadow grass leans along the breeze
That leads the eyes to shady trees.
The pasture’s here with pasture grass
And by the woods a meadow path.
No horse, nor dog, nor calf is found,
And neither are the chicks around.
Frost was a gift and so did he
Leave more than splendid poetry.
His life well lived, with record kept,
Into our hearts his words have crept.
I know his wish is coming true,
The young do read his words anew.
We love his verse for what it is,
“Come out, come in,” the words are his.
Visit his farm and see for yourself,
What woods these woods he walked, what wealth.
Derry woods for the eyes of you,
I’m walking over, “You Come Too.”
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About the Book
Have you ever been influenced strongly by a certain experience in your life? The inspiration for my poetry originated when I personally met Robert Frost in 1962 during a groundbreaking ceremony of Robert Frost Hall at Windham College in Putney, Vermont, where I was a student. At that point, he was in his eighties and was good friends with Dr. Walter Hendricks, who was the founder and president of Windham College. I was the shovel bearer for the groundbreaking ceremony and had helped clear the land for the new campus. Prior to that time, Dr. Frost used to come to the student cafeteria at Windham College and recite his poems during lunch, which were always memorable occasions for me. My poetry has been influenced not only by this great poet but also by God’s amazing creations, nature’s wonder, and personal reflections while doing simple things like walking in the woods on a snowy evening, remembering the people whose paths have crossed mine at some point or another, or having nonsensical musings on ordinary items, such as a pepper grinder:
Turning the handle,
Round and round,
Hearing the crushing,
Of the peppercorn sound.
The handle comes toward me,
Away then it leaves,
Arm outstretched,
To the center it cleaves.
Grinding’s its business,
All shredded to bits,
Shakins on the viands,
This title, it fits.
About the Author
Bruce Blasius lives in Midland Park, New Jersey, and attended Windham College in Putney, Vermont. He has lived his life in accordance with God’s teachings and accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior on April 6, 1973.