AngelJ15

The sound of the trees

They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.

Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth somewhere,
I shall make a reckless choice
Someday when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone. -The brilliant Robert Frost

Always able to capture the intangiable feelings.