Some scholars say that this is one of Robert Frost’s last poems. No scholar myself, I simply know that it cannot be from the textual evidence. Can you see why Frost could not have written it?
The Edge of Winter
Windy Autumn brawls down my street
Kicking fallen leaves aside.
Frantically scuttering they compete
For any safe place to hide
This dance I think is good excuse
For me to wait until the Spring.
Leaf herding with split bamboo’s
No good at all for my old wings.
The brash youngster across the way’s
Gone and got himself a leaf blower
That stirs up a hurricane
Of leaves and needles. A shower
Surrounds him slowly blowing
His way across the lawn.
I watch him working, knowing
While he works the law time worn:
The afternoon won’t have ended,
Day will not yet have gone
Gentle, but bright colors blended
Once more blanket his deep green lawn .