After Frost, the poet, not weather, I
built a circle wall, or rather spiral
all to come to mend, wall, themselves to walk
both sides and agree it makes good neighbors.
Something there is that loves a wall to mend,
repair the mind and soul gentle grayworn
farm field stone plucked to define god for
us all as ‘mine.’
Come take down and build up: stone, man, this wall
to mend- not broken, but not at all.