FROST AT MIDNIGHT

Frost
etches a sketch

of its self
upon a window pane

drawing itself over
& over again

whilst outside
the moon

hangs suspended
above diverging roads

pondering which path
to take

as if it had promises
to keep

I just want to sleep
but I have miles to go before

reciting aloud to the stars
Walter De la Mare's

THE LISTENERS

to myself
to keep myself

awake.

The woods fill up
with snow

making everything
a ghost

of what it was.

The woods fill up
with snow...snow

memories of
long agos.