you, known by all

(yet by none),

 

sit

still as stagnant waters
watching seasons paint the poplars
from your window home

 

and
remember

that you, too, once

danced with sunbeams
blew dandelion fluff
scattered dead leaves
caught snowflakes
leaped frogs
skinned knees

 

and
think

what a sad, slow
forgotten way
to go.

 

napo2014button2

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo
Day 8

 

Today’s (totally optional, but always inspirational) prompt is:  rewrite a famous poem, giving it your own spin.

I chose to rewrite  an e e cummings poem:

 

who are you, little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window; at the gold

 

of november sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

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