The Armful For every parcel I stoop to secure, I lose some other off my arms. I have Too much. Just to stand there in the door, I feel my burden dropping on the floor.

And as, I bend, I can barely stand, With arms full of what cannot let go. I must let go. I want even more, But no object becomes an object so.

And I stretch just to stand, and can secretly, Hold everything and not have to care, See the children playing, so free and bright, But I do not want them falling like that!

• Robert Frost