Enduring a Snowy Day
The day will pass with painful slowness.
Snowed-in, read-up, lacking anywhere
To wish that I could go, I sit. I watch
The fireplace. The snow will stop,
The forecast says. The air then will
Grow colder still, and I, protected,
Bored as hell, will rise at some point,
For some reason. To do what?, I ask
Myself. There's no way I can know.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2025-02-17 at 18:40
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