Of the Stones of the Place

Frost is the poet who taught me to love poetry, as well as one of the United States’ most popular poets, so I would be remiss if I let Poetry Month go by without sharing some of his work. There’s this idea that our place, our home, shapes our character. Frost refers to this idea in today’s poem. It isn’t as well-known as some of his poems, but it’s still great. Also, it’s relatively short and uses accessible language, so it shouldn’t break your brain to read it. 🙂 (PS Don’t forget to comment!)

Of the Stones of the Place
by Robert Frost

I farm a pasture where the boulders lie
As touching as a basket full of eggs,
And though they’re nothing anybody begs,
I wonder if it wouldn’t signify

For me to send you one out where you live
In wind-soil to a depth of thirty feet,
And every acre good enough to eat,
As fine as flour put through a baker’s sieve.

I’d ship a smooth one you could slap and chafe,
And set up like a statue in your yard,
And eolith palladium to guard
The West and keep the old tradition safe.

Carve nothing on it. You can simply say
In self-defense to quizzical inquiry:
‘The portrait of the soul of my grandsir Ira.
It came from where he came from anyway.’