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Customer Review
Reviewed in the United States on February 17, 2012
It could have been Frost, but it isn't. I just have the feeling Frost would have weighed the same passages down with big fat stones of meter, rhyme and meaning. It would have ended up like something that kids, at the time poetry was beaten into them, would have had to have read. I would have avoided it then and now. Instead, it sits, unpretentious, in a little book, regrettably, few children will ever pick up. It has it all, rhyme, meter, and meaning. But none of them collide and make a mess of it, collapsing the particular while grasping too boldly for the infinite. It's the wonder of taking a few moments and expanding upon them in a way that allows us to know to the narrator, his experience and every single relationship he alludes to, and there are many, as it ripples outward, connecting us all. The verse, the rhyme are to be respected but they know their place to support. And so all the effort that I know went into it falls away in my reading of it, and it strikes me a wonder of simplicity.
