A TEN MILE DRIVE
A TEN MILE DRIVE
I walked a country road once
In New England, in October.
In a gorgeous colored paradise
You’d think you were not sober.
A car approached, my thumb went out
He stopped. I boarded, saw the man,
And nearly tumbled over.
That craggy face, that shock of hair.
T’was Robert Frost who’s driving.
Yes, Frost himself. Get in, he said.
And so began a ten-mile ride
I’ll recall with pleasure till I’m dead.
So fitting was his presence there
In the land he wrote about
He fit, like gloves, the Yankee scene
Appropriate, no doubt.
We chatted just like old friends do,
The miles flew by, the clock had run.
We got to town, I shook his hand.
He said goodbye, the ride was done.
How many times in decades since
I re-rode that ten mile drive
With the great Yankee Catullus
And ride again, I shall, as long as I’m alive.
A true story; took place in October, 1943.
