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Lost To College

Morning’s first frost Ghost sprawled to lawns Horizon sun Snowman’s head rolled from fog The backs of deer Cut atop the cropped bean fields Like circling shark fins On the way To my last years at work I wait like any other As a bus fills up with cut-out children Red lights flashing Engine trembling from its hurdy gurdy The last of our birdies Has flown the nest What will be left Of us?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022




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Date: 10/8/2022 9:51:00 AM
Love the line about the snowman! Very good poem, Robert!
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