The Vantage Point
If tired of trees I seek again mankind
Well I know where to hie me-in the dawn,
To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn.
There amid lolling juniper reclined,
Myself unseen, I see in white defined
Far off the homes of men, and farther still,
The graves of men on an opposing hill,
Living or dead, whichever are to mind
And if by noon I have too much of these,
I have but to turn on my arm, and lo,
The sun-burned hillsides sets my face aglow,
My breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze,
I smell the earth, I smell the bruised plant,
I look into the crater of the ant.
Written by Robert Frost
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