Well Read Unread
Writing on emotions' motions
need apply to other eyes,
often inciting trite commotions,
seldom showing pleased surprise.
Time's rivers feed eternal oceans,
although life under any guise
knows no immortal magic potions
so youth turns prime then age with sighs.
Perhaps tomorrow special lotions
will cancers cure of any size
offer instant locomotion
between dimensions wide as wise.
Notice not ice nor fire can compromise
poetic search beyond known skies.
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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