I Never Grow Weary Poem by Lazarus Knix

I Never Grow Weary



The orange edge of dawn
Settles whitely upon
The quaint frosted lake
In November, again.

The thick forest outside
Our abandoned city
Is littered with
Sleeping pinecones, I-
Count their buried bodies in the
Sheet of snow, smiling.

Thousands of poems
Written like this-
Thousands of lives
Lived like mine-
Yet I never grow weary
Of writing them,
-Of living.

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