It's incredible how much depth a short poem like A Patch of Old Snow has. The subject of snow in a corner, forgotten and dirty by time. Would you have noticed it while traipsing? Or does the poem inquire as to whether anyone notices you, alive, young, old, or dead and buried in a cemetery with a dirty tombstone? Scary shit. My deep thoughts on the loo.
— Aug 22, 2024 12:21AM
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