Latenight Poetry Writing Poem by I'd Like to be Anonymous

Latenight Poetry Writing



Snow drifts on the house's eaves.
They frisk.
They sing.
They dazzle.
Flying pen on papery mediun.
It floats.
It glides.
It surprises.
Buried in six inches of blanket.
They keep.
They warm.
They protect.
In the shadowy lampside glow
I write.
I'm right.
Good night.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Chuck Audette 08 December 2008

Cute. Sounds like a Snow Day tomorrow for you, then... -chuck

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