A Nod To Derry’s Son

A nod to him whom attended Lady Derry’s autumn tempests, gyrating orange and red and yellow leaves, dancing alongside stone-walled pastures, caroling in voices divine.

Beneath the chimney smoking, her singing overheard, the man north of Boston, stirred.

He penned, picked, plowed, and tilled her mysteries, and, in return, a thousand rhythms’ ineffable conceived expression.

Her rolling hills and tree lined cathedrals, he interpreted.

In his toil, she delighted.

For he, the Poet, composed psalms performed by the winds, and cries he earwigged from cold, autumn skies.

To him whom attended Lady Derry’s autumn tempests, a nod.

—W. Alexander

Derry, New Hampshire was the longtime home of Robert Frost. This poem is in dedication to my favorite poetry book: North of Boston, and his poem October.

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