We’d like to show the side of the world you don’t normally see on television.
2 members
232 members
41 members
243 members
208 members
87 members
146 members
127 members
166 members
138 members
34 members
© 2024 Created by Richard Lukens. Powered by
Comment Wall (1 comment)
You need to be a member of Architects of a New Dawn to add comments!
Join Architects of a New Dawn
by Robert Frost
A winter garden in an alder swamp,
Where conies now come out to sun and romp,
As near a paradise as it can be
And not melt snow or start a dormant tree.
It lifts existence on a plane of snow
One level higher than the earth below,
One level nearer heaven overhead,
And last year's berries shining scarlet red.
It lifts a gaunt luxuriating beast
Where he can stretch and hold his highest feast
On some wild apple tree's young tender bark,
What well may prove the year's high girdle mark.
So near to paradise all pairing ends:
Here loveless birds now flock as winter friends,
Content with bud-inspecting. They presume
To say which buds are leaf and which are bloom.
A feather-hammer gives a double knock.
This Eden day is done at two o'clock.
An hour of winter day might seem too short
To make it worth life's while to wake and sport.