The Day He Left the Meadow

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The Day He Left the Meadow

He left from the meadow

on the day the world was blanketed in white.

Tiny crystals fell from the heavens

and turned the trees into frosted statues

and the pond into a frozen mirror.  

The world was still

almost as if time were frozen over.

Not a sound could be heard

except when he took his last breath

and the snow was dyed crimson.

 

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Poetry is what is lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

vleung07’s Poems (1)

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