you read what a cranky,
nasty old man
Robert frost could
be. it's not pretty.
but you give him
some room. who hasn't
been that way from
time to time.
you haven't walked
in his boots, or
stopped by his woods.
or gone deep into
them on a snowy night.
you have no clue
to who his neighbors
were, or how strong
those fences were
to keep the adoring
fans away. it doesn't
matter as he rises
every day, brilliantly
sad on another page.
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