Robert Frost Forgotten

I've slacked on blogging. I've said this so often that it never comes as much of a surprise, but I'll keep saying it until I figure out how to back-date my blogs so that I can slack off without anyone noticing it. But until then, This is my poem for last week.
Psych. I wrote this thing on 3/12/12, as part of the short lived Creative Writing Club at Bonanza... before it morphed into a self-help group.
We were supposed to write a poem after the style and subject of a famous poet.
I chose Robert Frost. Here is his.

The Vantage Point

If tired of trees I seek again mankind,

Well I know where to hie me—in the dawn,

To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn,

There amid lolling juniper reclined,

Myself unseen, I see in white defined

Far off the homes of men, and farther still,

The graves of men on an opposing hill,

Living or dead, whichever are to mind.

And if by noon I have too much of these,

I have but to turn on my arm, and lo,

The sunburned hillside sets my face aglow,

My breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze,

I smell the earth, I smell the bruisèd plant,

I look into the crater of the ant.

 Robert Frost

Here is mine.

The World of Night.

Celestial bodies through the dark give light,

Headlights meld with the pinpricks of the stars

Below are seen the lesser lights of cars

Above, eternal luster; glowing bright.

Two worlds combine, and yet they never fight.

Beauty of the natural light doesn't mar 

The image of the headlights from afar.

Both add to the loveliness of the night.

And night, waxing old, will soon see a change.

As wakening dawn, a greater light brings

The rebirth of day. The morning lark sings.

Though the nightengale finds this new song strange

remembering the beauties of the dark

And mocking the melody of the lark.

Alayna Een

Is it cheating to use a poem I wrote more than a year ago?

Most certainly. But it's my blog. I didn't write anything really great this week, and if I had, it probably would have been .... not great. Just like this week was.