A write-back poem to Robert Frost’s Dust of Snow.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

The Crow
to Ricky, for all the wisdom
That big tree I fling
to fly with these dark-night wings
I shiver for some snow
and shower it down below.
An ice died frozen
never melts nor awakens
I bear this numbness
Hollow! No egg on my nest!

With my red round eyes
I see all the worlds are lies –
muds covered with ice,
so white, grant you with surprise!

Yet a stone so hard
to smash my heart apart
strike of a cottonball
I felt; so soft and small.
To be stoned to death
is way better to lose breath –
to gasp for that air
like fire less its flare.


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