when poems share a muse

Asking for Roses A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master, With doors that none but the wind ever closes, Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster; It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses. I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary; 'I wonder,' I say, 'who the owner of those is.' 'Oh, no one you know,' she answers me airy, 'But one we must ask if we want any roses.' So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly There in the hush of the wood that reposes, And turn and go up to the open door boldly, And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses. 'Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?' 'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses. 'Pray, are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you! 'Tis summer again; there's two come for roses. 'A word with you, that of the singer recalling-- Old Herrick: a saying that every maid knows is A flower unplucked is but left to the falling, And nothing is gained by not gathering roses.' We do not loosen our hands' intertwining (Not caring so very much what she supposes), There when she comes on us mistily shining And grants us by silence the boon of her roses. Robert Frost

Pearl, this poem made me think of your poem Mist, Fog, Rain

Dear Pearl,

Miss Goodrow sprained her ankle at the Snow Ball and we have convinced her to move in with us while she recuperates.  She is such a good patient, after all.  Full of stories of the characters she has known and loved.  And she eats like a bird - tea once a day and a watercress anything whenever Louise gets a moment. Wish you were here with us.

I Remain As Always, Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Miss Blue,
I am so happy to hear that Louise will continue cooking her wonderful food for you and Melba and Fanny. Good that Lulu's cat was willing to chase mice there in Louise's kitchen. Sam, the Italian cat will make sure that not a footprint is left to bother Louise - Italians being so willing to strike down the enemy in short order (I know that about Italians, Miss Blue).

And now to tell you about another important cat here in my neighborhood. Talked to Hunter Cat just the other day. He was deep in snow out here in my backyard, having jumped from the top of the fence in order to pounce on a slow moving squirrel that was about to climb the bird feeder, to steal our Bird Lady's most recent offering to the birds. He is a brave and noble cat, Miss Blue, and I told him so. His flight downward frightened the thieving squirrel who quickly scampered away. Bernard Squirrel up to his old tricks. A fiesty squirrel who loves the chase; why even Frederick Crow has been intimidated by his menancing paws held high in front of his face as he races after his enemies. Hunter Cat was soon shaking the heavy snow from his coat and was back on top of the fence. I called his name and he looked up toward my window and waved his paw indicating that he had heard me, and then carefully turned and hurried back along the fence and home. Mostly white with a little black on his sides, the Hunter Cat can disappear from sight and that is just what he did.

Give my love to Lulu and Fanny. And to you. Writing finally, Pearl