Putting in the Seed By Robert Frost
This man does not write poetry, but he does play tennis. I think about him a great deal, usually when I am naked.
It’s warm and sunny here in New York and the days are getting longer. I know, it’s only February. I know that the wind is causing all sorts of tragedy. But it IS boobs/chesticles friday. (I think I am the only one not ready to give up boobs/chesticles friday.) And it has been positively Spring-like here. Time to make babies! I want to make babies with this man to our left. And speaking of baby making, Robert Frost wrote this wonderfully raw poem about Spring-time lust and fecundity: