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thinking of robert frost


thinking of a poet



in a new england village

an old man wandered

the road towards me

thick crop of frosted hair


snowflakes started to fall


he shuffled along

looking here

looking there


a flight of geese

flew in a perfect V pattern



he watched them disappear

then walked

towards me slowly

a bit confused


hello ...

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new englandpoetryrobert frostsnoewoods

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