Cold. Stars. A breath you can see.
Hills stand round a village like ignored guests
at a reception.The lights of the street fail; they obey not.
The second; the sleet forces my face down
to the wet road. It is nearly time.
The end; I return to a home that kicks me.
Cold. The stars ice. Midnight.
Leslie Philibert's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Sketch by Leslie Philibert )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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