Birches by Robert Frost

I love Robert Frost's digressions in Birches. His mastery of poetry is evident (to me) in the way he seems to wander away from his point, then shows you that he's had a slightly different point in his crosshairs all along.

But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm

And today is the kind of day to read Birches. When you're tired but going on anyway, because that's what you do, and it's good that you go on. Because this is the right place to live, although you might like to get away a while.