{"id":698,"date":"2014-07-30T13:27:42","date_gmt":"2014-07-30T13:27:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/krishnakantshukla.org\/\/?p=698"},"modified":"2020-05-19T06:55:06","modified_gmt":"2020-05-19T06:55:06","slug":"stopping-by-the-woods-on-a-snowy-evening-2014","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/krishnakantshukla.org\/?p=698","title":{"rendered":"Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening 2014"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Berkeley<\/a>Who\u2019se woods these are, I\u2019d rather not be told
\nNature is our mother, not to be bought and sold,
\nUnseen, In a clearing, I park my car, to witness,
\nNature clothed in raiment, silvery white and gold.
\nChipmunks and squirrels merrily playing,
\nAmidst many a snow\u2019s fold,
\nWhile the deer hoof away the snow and ice,
\nTo munch on roots , in the bitter cold
\nThe woodpecker taps away at the tree\u2019s bark,
\nWith a rhythm fast, determined, loud and bold,
\nAnd the fragrant, crisp wind softly whispers,
\nMelodies, some new and some old
\nEntranced, with gratitude, joy and awe,
\nI stand, the forest\u2019s pristine beauty to behold.
\n\"Berkeley<\/a>My trusty old Dodge must think it strange,
\nTo stop outside any dwelling\u2019s range
\nAmidst frost covered trees, aside frozen lake,
\nIn the Apalachian mountain range.
\nAs I turn off the ignition,
\nShe, of her own volition,
\nGives her crankshaft a shake,
\nTo ask if there is some mistake
\nAnd the only other sound is the rat-tat-tat,
\nThat two woodpeckers make.
\nThe woods are alive with mystery and wonder,
\nBut threatened by human greed and plunder.
\nTheir beauty astounding and deep,
\nTheir secrets, ever to keep
\nFrom the greedy calculating mind,
\nRevealed only to the heart,
\nThat is loving, true and kind.
\nWilderness is majestic, dark and deep,
\nAnd, though I have no promises to keep,
\nI have some distance to go before I sleep
\nSome distance to go, before I sleep.
\n(I wrote this poem while living in solitude in the Apalachian Mountains in January 2014\u00a0–\u00a0krishna kant shukla)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Who\u2019se woods these are, I\u2019d rather not be told Nature is our mother, not to be bought and sold, Unseen, In a clearing, I park my car, to witness, Nature clothed in raiment, silvery white and gold. Chipmunks and squirrels merrily playing, Amidst many a snow\u2019s fold, While the deer hoof away the snow and 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