home try

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home try


The day wore grey monotone
like a broken promise with a touch of lemon, pretending to be sunshine.

And that woman ..... as a perspective room-renting landlord,
she was as welcoming as the PROTECTED BY sign in her flower garden.

"I'm only selling my money," he said.

"Nice to meet you. Come on in. The dog eats all small children."

He thought of Christmas songs and the Angels
-- he could almost hear the music;
but he shirked his shoulders and left with his slow-shoe shuffle.

The day rolled on to end, just like the other ones, with a pinch less rich
except for the sunset of gold on his face;

and there's no space
like teeth missing-in-place
to aid a slow starvation.

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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

Springsize’s Poems (5)

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