How can a poem, written years before, capture the way I feel? In “A Blue Ribbon at Amesbury,” Robert Frost writes my thoughts, my feelings.
“A Blue Ribbon at Amesbury” describes a young man’s mind, as he observes his blue-ribbon winning hen.
The one who gave her ankle-band,
Her keeper, empty pail in hand,
He lingers too, averse to slight
His chores for all the wintry night.
He leans against the dusty wall,
Immured almost beyond recall,
A depth past many swinging doors
And many litter-muffled floors.
He meditates the breeder’s art.
He has a half a mind to start,
With her for Mother Eve, a race
That shall all living things displace.
The cattle on my farm can be traced back over fifty years, the hogs over thirty, the chickens over ten. We are always selecting, always monitoring, always striving.