Something For Hope Poem By Robert Frost,
At the present rate it must come to pass
And that right soon that the meadow sweet
And steeple bush not good to eat
WIll have crowded out the edible grass
Then all there IS to do is walt
For maple bIrch and spruce to push
Through meadow sweet and steeple bush
And crowd them out at a sImilar rate
No plow among these rocks would pay.
So busy yourself with other thIngs
WhIle the trees pllt on theIr wooden rIngs
And wIth long-sleeved branches hold theIr sway
Then cut down the trees when lumbel grown,
And there’s your prIstine earth all freed
From lovely bloomIng but wasteful weed
And ready again for the grass to own.
A cycle we’ll say of a hundred years
Thus foresight does it and laIssez faire,
A VIrtue In whICh we all may share
Unless a government mterferes
Patience and lookIng away ahead,
And leaving some things to take their course.
Hope rna y not nourish a cow or horse,
But spes alIt agricolam ’tis said.