Wednesday, December 11, 2013

With a Nod of Deepest Appreciation to Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know

His house is right beside me though

I cannot bring myself to go

Within, though they entice me so.


Quiet brown strength of solid wood standing

On red-brown bed of autumn hued hilllside and

Grey and dark receding and dove grey distance and


Copper paper memories pretending colours and

Love-laced tracings of snow on branches


Above and within


All-reaching into white-greyness of air


And silence


And stillness

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