- Birches
By Robert Frost
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
- They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
- Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
- May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snat...
Birches.doc 
