The Pasture

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;

I'll only stop to rake the leaves away

(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):

I sha'n't be gone long. --You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf

That's standing by the mother. It's so young,

It totters when she licks it with her tongue.

I sha'n't be gone long. --You come too.

--Robert Frost

This poem exemplifies on of the things I love most about poetry: it can elevate the mundane into art through the power and wonder and beauty of words. It's amazing.