Winter Walk
Floating in the river, there are
Chunks and bits of ice,
Lazily meandering,
Their journey imprecise.
The water’s gray, the sky is blue;
A smokestack bellows white.
An early morning winter walk
Such eyeings do invite.
The promenade belongs to me;
Manhattan’s yet to stir.
The neighborhood is mine alone;
The pigeons would concur.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2015
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