Poetic Dialog With Robert Frost - Poem by Joao Otero
I know, my friend, I'm getting old.
And true, some things are hard to hold...
The golden green of morning breath;
And drops of hope along the path.
As we both know, the bright sun fades.
Yet, in the poles, it longer stays.
I'd rather sit here far away
but keep this gold all day.
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