Carol Frost

Here is another dark poem since this first day of spring was so stinginingly chilly.
Carol Frost was Robert's son who committed suicide after burning all his poetry. It sort of takes your breath away, the story of a man in the shadows of a famous poet, indeed one of the most favorite of our time.
First draft
By Mary E. Gerdt

Carol Frost’s poems
Were lost in a fire
Of his own making
A funeral pyre
Of all his Dad loved and all he would be.
Carol said take this, and then said take me.
Leaving his father to wonder on cold and warm nights,
When the leaves were falling, or the rain turned to ice,

What his son had written, he tried to recall
The ones his son shared,
That’s all after all,
That was left of the poems of the son of the man
Who was famous in life and tenfold in death.

What goes through man’s mind whose son took his own life?
Could the words that he wrote cushion the strife?
Could he say, I am better at the end of the day,
When he remembered poor Carol, alone and astray.

Did he wonder if there was a path he could take
Less travelled or not
To avoid the mistake
He surely thought happened
When Carol was sad.
Was it all because of his famous Dad.

Did Carol wonder how he never could be
As great as his Dad and waited not to see
And never shared the poems that told
Of his father and family.




Did Robert wonder and cry to himself
And stood tall to others but inside he was dark.
In a small recess in a part of his brain
He recalled Carol’s actions again and again.

Late at night when the wind howled and he was feeling the pain,
Carol’s face would appear as a dream again
And again.

Haunting his sleepless nights with a fear,
Robert suffered plenty
With Carol not here.

The poems were elusive as Robert’s road not travelled
The road he had taken, caused the family to unravel.
Famous poet, though the world loved him greatly,
Wanted only the love of his son