|Golden Field by Tara Lewis|
The Aim was Song
by Robert Frost
Before man came to blow it right
The wind once blew itself untaught,
And did its loudest day and night
In any rough place where it caught.
Man came to tell it what was wrong:
It hadn't found the place to blow;
It blew too hard--the aim was song.
And listen--how it ought to go!
He took a little in his mouth,
And held it long enough for north
To be converted into south,
And then by measure blew it forth.
By measure. It was word and note,
The wind the wind had meant to be--
A little through the lips and throat.
The aim was song--the wind could see.
N.B. This week I will only be posting once a day--a piece of poetry paired with a work of art that you can purchase for your very own! I don't know about you, but sometimes I just need a week of poetry + beautiful art. (Find more poems here.)