My Sin
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it ―Robert Frost
In autumn chill
And pass the way
To our lonely hill.
I hesitate,
Then think I’ll spy
Upon our lives
In days gone by.
But who am I
To retrace old steps
And climb up roots
To a broken fence?
Sommer’s hill
Is steep and still
And bends the birches
Up the hill
Peeling back
White brittle sheets
Where I wrote you poems
With a charred fire stick
We kept them
In an old dead tree
For you and I
And posterity
Many years
Have come between
And tears and time
Have wiped them clean
I’m often tempted
To look and see
But to find them gone
Would be disappointing
I try to think
As I go past
The lifeless tree
Would let them last
But I’d rather visit
In my thoughts
Than climb the hill
And end up lost.
beautiful poetry with amazing photograph
thanks @imraan
Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
This deserves some attention. Upvoted and resteemed :)
thanks, @ipkiss
Like your poetry
This post has received a 20.21 % upvote from @booster thanks to: @johnjgeddes.
#life
Dr. Seuss:You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.thanks
Another excellent poem! Keep them coming!
Obviously I have no idea what you had in mind, (what was the author smoking concept :-) )
But your words had a lot of meaning to me.
Thank you for writing & posting!
I adore you're writing.
This post has been ranked within the top 50 most undervalued posts in the first half of Nov 08. We estimate that this post is undervalued by $6.97 as compared to a scenario in which every voter had an equal say.
See the full rankings and details in The Daily Tribune: Nov 08 - Part I. You can also read about some of our methodology, data analysis and technical details in our initial post.
If you are the author and would prefer not to receive these comments, simply reply "Stop" to this comment.