These cold clear days
when the trees argue about what season it is
coughs linger and chimneys feel at home
We'll throw the football and pretend
it's January under lights and camera flashes
with the game on the line
We'll walk over dead leaves
survey the landscape and wonder
where Bob Ross hid his secrets
These cold clear days
we'll miss things we never noticed before
doughnut shops, rope swings, smells and laughs
These cold clear days
there's gold under foot every step
we may forget, but it will stick with us
cling to the bottom of our shoes
until we need to be reminded.
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3 comments:
jake,
this is lovely- the air turned cold here yesterday.
its interesting the way i need these changes in season to feel sane.
i hope you are well- i miss actually hearing your voice say these poems, but i try to fill it in in my head.
dude, this is ace right here.
I'm not fucking around with her
no I'm not fucking arrooooouuuuunnnnnd!
in addition to that, you should have more than three poems on your page at a time.
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