Under the brilliant sky
The land stretches out with no trees by
To support the heavy, blue weight.
Tucked into the curve of the hill,
The little cabin sat, still.
She looked out the window
No neighbors today.
There never would be, below
This barren hill away
From the mines and churches of town.
What did Jessie want here,
She wondered. Not much of a farm,
Not much of a mine. A shiver
Crossed her arms.
How long could she go on?
The cabin door banged open.
Jessie barged in. “What, no
Dinner ready, and the fire stone
Cold? How can I work the farm like this?”
She turned, heavy on her feet,
And walked out the door.
Another poem in the style of Robert Frost. This one is finished. Come back Wednesday for a post on the writing of this poem.
- In the style of Robert Frost (lizbethsgarden.wordpress.com)