FROST AT MIDNIGHT

frost
etches a sketch
of its self

upon a window pane
drawing itself over
& over again

whilst outside
the moon
hangs suspended

above diverging roads
pondering which path
to take

as if it had promises
to keep
I just want to sleep

but I have miles to go before
reciting  aloud to the stars
Walter De la Mare's

THE LISTENERS
to myself
to keep myself awake.

the woods fill up
with snow
making everything

a ghost
of what
it was

the woods fill up
with snow...snow
memories of long agos.