Untitled Poem

Here is a poem that I wrote one day. The numbers are there because I was counting syllables.


Through (1) winter (2) chill (2) and (1) snow (1) so (1) cold (1),

I (1) found (1) a (1) place (1) that (1) will (1) ne’er (1) grow(1) old (1),

A (1) doorway (2) made (1) of (1) oak (1) and (1) yew (1),

yet a doorway seen by none but few.


I opened up the door and saw

a sight that filled me with some awe

a barren field covered in snow,

a forest path with no place to go,

and as I stood watching there,

my fingers froze as if they bare/my toes got cold as in the air (2nd verse)


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