Feeling Frosty

Every once and a while, it’s fun to pretend to be Robert Frost. So, on this everyday, January day, I must comply.

Time sails swiftly out the front door,

in flashes and colors,

some brilliant, some slow.

The memories I cling to,

the memories I keep,

the seed I have sowed,

the reminisce I reap.

From what’s back and what’s forward,

I walk through the door,

forgetting why I entered,

yet always craving more.

I look up to the trees,

and with such aimless ease,

one step turns to twenty,

I am poor, but possess aplenty.

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