When our mind is full with wishes that, instead of motivating, they tear us apart, we might want to take a deep breath and look out of the window, watching and reflecting how meaningless is our sorrow. If it cannot bring the jars of ourselves together, we might want to enjoy someone's works that share ways of dealing with the crowded mind in an appropriate way. Just like the following poem written by Robert Frost, simple but decorated with a deep self-reflection.
Enjoy reading and share your comments. :)
GHOST HOUSE
Robert Frost
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the dayhght falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
O'er ruined fences the grapevines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field,
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops,
The footpath down to the well is healed.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.
It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me-
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses nlar.
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,With
none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.
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