Keith Waldrop

(1932 / Emporia, Kansas / United States)

Poet - Poem by Keith Waldrop

The wind dying, I find a city deserted, except for crowds of
people moving and standing.
Those standing resemble stories, like stones, coal from the
death of plants, bricks in the shape of teeth.

I begin now to write down all the places I have not been—
starting with the most distant.
I build houses that I will not inhabit.


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Robert Frost

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening



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Poem Submitted: Saturday, July 26, 2014

Poem Edited: Saturday, July 26, 2014


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