Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
An on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbours.’
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, ‘Good fences make good neighbours.’

– Robert Frost

On The Outside, Looking In

I always find myself here
On the outside, looking in;
Looking in on others lives
And love I'll never win.
In all the things I've done
And places where I've been
I'm always on the outside,
Looking in.

My life's been filled with loneliness
And emptiness and pain,
And every time I think I'll win
It comes around again
To take away the sunshine
And leave me in the rain;
This cold and lonely life here
Filled with pain.

So do I quit looking and trying to show
How much I'm willing to give,
And do I quit trying to be in their lives
And keep to myself as I live.

Doubts that started small
Grow ever stronger now, it seems,
Shadowing my daylight hours
And creeping in my dreams.
When I was uninvited,
Or chosen last for teams,
The reasons grow more obvious,
It seems.

Looking toward the future now,
I know not where it leads;
To loneliness and misery,
Or marvelous, great deeds.
I see there only things to fear
And empty, unfilled needs
And no one there to take me
Where it leads.

So do I quit looking and trying to show
How much I'm willing to give,
And do I quit trying to be in their lives
And keep to myself as I live.
        - RD Clyde