An Old Poet
stars still shine
a wonderful labor
unnoticed
especially in winter
when cold folds us
old trees still grow
though moss mutilates
and branches bend
squirrels leap
for the joy of leaping
ants still scurry
delighted by summer fare
soda spills
melted marshmallows
and watermelon skeletons
an old poet still needs to write
it's his plight
precious pen
buttering words
for hungry readers
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