Robert Frost - Karrin Allyson

Robert Frost did write in settings beautiful and rustic

He wrote of rolling hills and green terrain

But poor me I must do my writing in the chaos of the city

Sometimes even on a subway train

How am I to ever learn about the woodlands

And the falling leaves of autumn, and such things sublime

When I must spend all my time just trucking 'round this dirty city

Doing what I can to earn a dime, dime, dime

How did Robert Frost make payments on that little country place of his

Where did he get the dough?

Could he go down to the country store and sell a poem, saying

«Here's a nice one I wrote about the snow»

Surely now he must have had a sponsor of some sort,

Perhaps a lady friend just rolled in bread

A lady friend to say «Now, Bob, why don’t you take a long, long walk

and write whatever pops into your head, head, head»

She’d say, «Bobby don’t you worry about the mortgage, no no,

Bobby don’t you worry about those bills.

Bobby why don’t you go write a poem about the neighbors,

About the fences, about the rolling hills.»

«Bobby don’t you worry about the dishes,

and don’t you even think about those pans.

Bobby you know it’s not good that an artist like yourself

should be walking around this world with dishpan hands.»

So you see now Bob was free to follow through his fancies

Wander through the hills behind the muse

Boy if I had Bobby’s life I’d follow through my fancies,

Oh, to be in Bobby’s shoes

If I had Bobby’s life I could be a hero

Go out and find my fortune and my fame

The only trouble is, I hear from people who have found it

That everything in life stays just the same, same, same

Just the same

Stays the same

Just the same