Uploaded October 2011 | Updated September 2026, 1 hour ago
This poem by Robert Frost reminds me of my childhood in the rural South in the 1950's. We didn't have many birch trees but small pine tree saplings served the purpose. We would climb to the top and ride them to the ground. We called it, "skinning the cat"
This poem by Robert Frost reminds me of my childhood in the rural South in the 1950's. We didn't have many birch trees but small pine tree saplings served the purpose. We would climb to the top and ride them to the ground. We called it, "skinning the cat"
