what are these days but the falling snow
what is this life but a wobbly bridge
walking delight is the best we have
shivering on, in this giant fridge
what are our nights but an empty hall
what are our times but reflecting spheres
where the images come, just to vanish again
in the snowy mists that we call
years
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Tagged: Tags Life Perspective Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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