Let the brilliant snow paved mornings run a bit late.
there are no classes this afternoon;
And before evening is born.
we will mate with the night.

Can’t they say how long it takes,
for a day to really be a day like any other.
or be special like nothing that will ever be.
how long does it really take.

The small shop adorned with glass jars of toffee
calling kids walking to the school.
A corpse of an unknown man (or woman)
who knows, but I know someone if crying.

Categories: Poetry

Tags: glimpses, Poetry, Poetry Project. Poem, Snowtime