Explore "Pea Brush" by Robert Frost on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I walked down alone Sunday after church / To the place where John has been cutting trees / To see for myself about the birch / He said I could have to bush my peas.
The sun in the new-cut narrow gap / Was hot enough for the first of May, / And stifling hot with the odor of sap / From stumps still bleeding their life away.
The frogs that were peeping a thousand shrill / Wherever the ground was low and wet, / The minute they heard my step went still / To watch me and see what I came to get.
Birch boughs enough piled everywhere! ––
All fresh and sound from the recent axe.
Time someone came with cart and pair / And got them off the wild flower's backs.
They might be good for garden things / To curl a little finger round, / The same as you seize cat's-cradle strings, / And lift themselves up off the ground.
Small good to anything growing wild, / They were crooking many a trillium / That had budded before the boughs were piled / And since it was coming up had to come.