by Robert Frost
The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.
In summer when I passed this place,
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic face
Was singing it it sweet and swift,
No bird was singing in it now
A single leaf was on a bough
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree!
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It's Snowing AGAIN!...
Another Great Weekend for winter sports in Acadia National Park!
Contact REALTOR GramEpat for Broker Owned vacation rental reservations.
(We have a few spots left for 2011).
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