THE Investment Poem By Robert Frost
Over back where they speak of life as staymg,
(‘You couldn~t call it liVIng, for it am’t’),
There was an old, old house renewed with pamt,
And in it a piano loudly playing.
Out in the plowed ground in the cold a digger,
Among unearthed potatoes standing still,
Was countIng wmter C:~nners, one a hill,
With half an ear to the piano”s vigor.
All that piano and new paint back there,
Was it some money suddenly come rota?
Or some extravagance young love had been to?
Or old love on an impulse not to careNot to sink under being man and wife,
But get some color and music out of hfe?