When I was young my teachers were the old.
I gave up fire for form till I was cold.
I suffered like a metal being cast.
I went to school to age to learn the past.
 
Now when I am old my teachers are the young.
What can’t be molded must be cracked and sprung.
I strain at lessons fit to start a suture.
I got to school to youth to learn the future.

  • 0
  • 1
  •  
  •  
Login to comment...

Liked or faved by...

Chactas
Email

Other works by Robert Frost...

Some poets who follow Robert Frost...

Berklee Lerohl Grace Imbesi My New Life lord fara Don Emilio Rosie Hart