good hours

i had for my winter evening walk—

no one at all with whom to talk,

but I had the cottages in a row

up to their shining eyes in snow.

& i thought i had the folk within:

i had the sound of a violin;

i had a glimpse through curtain laces

of youthful forms and youthful faces.

i had such company outward bound.

i went 'till there were no cottages found.

i turned & repented, but coming back

i saw no window but that was black.

over the snow my creaking feet

disturbed the slumbering village street

like profanation, by your leave,

at ten o'clock of a winter eve.

robert frost

phantom

wish that you would fall away

tell myself you don't exist but in the gray

'cause you linger here like mortal death

& cloud mind's eye with every quickened breath

you won't go away 'cause you're not really here, lee

a ghost that only i can see...

haunts me with bumbled memory

letting go of what is gone, a repeating stupid song

cut these fetters bound 'round my will; they don't belong

these fraying threads of bruis-ed sight warp things wrong