Birches When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter, darker trees, I like to think some boy’s been swinging them. But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay. Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them Loaded with icy hammers, bending branches down To stay. That is what the game is, but I’d rather See their slender tops ascending in the sky Than have them all wither down to the ground.

So I hold on to my childhood, but I do not let it Take me over. One minute I was one of them, Then I slipped back to earth.

Earth’s the one thing we make our own, and it’s easy Just as it’s easy to go up and go right on. Why not walk into a tree or a clay plain? Just walk right into the heart of what you want to say!

• Robert Frost