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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

south

 

he watched them disappear

then walked

towards me slowly

a bit confused

 

hello ...

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new englandpoetryrobert frostsnoewoods

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