You'll remember me when the west wind moves
I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.
I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.
I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt--
Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.
Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?
Heaven gives its glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.
-Robert Frost
I've been thinking about this poem lately, and i think that i believe it. This is my favorite poem by my favorite poet, so really i guess it's a good thing that i believe it. But i really do think that happens to people. i know it happened to me. just once. and it's not something that would make sense to anyone else, so i'm not going to type it, because then i'd feel stupid and you'd think it's stupid and it would depreciate the meaning of it a little bit. but i love this poem, and i love the feeling it leaves you with. this poem is good to read while you're sitting in a tire swing outside, watching all the autumn leaves falling off the trees and listening to "fields of gold" by sting. just a suggestion, if anyone wants to try it.
That are gone before I can tell what they are.
I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.
I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt--
Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.
Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?
Heaven gives its glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.
-Robert Frost
I've been thinking about this poem lately, and i think that i believe it. This is my favorite poem by my favorite poet, so really i guess it's a good thing that i believe it. But i really do think that happens to people. i know it happened to me. just once. and it's not something that would make sense to anyone else, so i'm not going to type it, because then i'd feel stupid and you'd think it's stupid and it would depreciate the meaning of it a little bit. but i love this poem, and i love the feeling it leaves you with. this poem is good to read while you're sitting in a tire swing outside, watching all the autumn leaves falling off the trees and listening to "fields of gold" by sting. just a suggestion, if anyone wants to try it.