Poem: December Nineteenth

the sky is still sleeping and I am not.
hard rasping scrap of frost on my car,
grates on my still dreaming eardrums.
I have places to be and miles to go…

there is no wind today;
no other morning sounds.
it is just me alone,
under fading starlight;
on a journey that will not wait.


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Computer jockey with a graphite pencil merlinspielen.com I enjoy random email: merlinspielen at gmail dot com

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