The poem

Crossing to Safety

I could give all to Time except--except
What I myself have held. But why declare
The things forbidden that while the Customs slept
I have crossed to Safety with? For I am There
And what I would not part with I have kept.

Robert Frost

I like poetry. Not enough to read it regularly, or even occasionally. I taught poetry at the high school level and thoroughly enjoyed doing that. But sitting and reading poetry when I could read a novel? Especially when the poem is like the one above? Mr. Frost, you're a good poet, America's poet, but this poem is sliced and diced and oddly arranged and settled disjointedly. It's not my favorite, not like "Swinging Birches" or "Fences" (Something there is that doesn't like a fence), and, of course, "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening."