A TIME FOR COUNTING

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  • Emotional

    A TIME FOR COUNTING

    They’re the reason for the season
    Winter perched on its edge grunting
    Wanting to freeze our reason
    Teasing all that keep counting.

    All the plotting of the rotting
    Spring springing holy yet meager
    Eager the man’s seeds dying
    Trying all that keep counting.

    In the knowing of the growing
    Summer thoughts they are in the knife
    Rife with the dreams of racking
    Packing all that keep counting.

    Vain is the death of making meth
    Fall falling down life doesn’t care
    Where it is not even raking
    Taking all who reap counting.

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    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    GriffithHunter’s Poems (2)

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