Stopping to blog
on a snowless morning
Posted by Josh Friedlander | No Comments
There are no woods. I see no snow.
And though it’s ten degrees below,
There’s precious little white romance
To counteract this dark and woe.
My little horse is in a trance.
He hasn’t room enough to prance
Within my small apartment home,
Which hasn’t really much expanse.
He laughs as I compose this poem,
And says he’s sure it’s quite the tome,
But he remains a metaphor
Extant in my cerebral dome.
The snowless winter I abhor,
But poetry does much restore
A season I do oft adore,
A season I do oft adore.
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