Down the Northwest Angle cross the brow of the Boundary’s claim
The northern wanders with no less purpose, than what it brings
Toward the River Valley from off The Mighty Range
In days gone short of purpose, it’s time for premonitions and lore
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Pablo, A poem with some very fresh stuff in it. In particular I like these lines: 'the ink of night' 'barn the roan while this land lodges under shrouds of crystalline' A very lovely piece of work that takes us to a distant place. It is very hard to do more. Blessings, Bill Grace
Very nicly written about the comming of another season, I enjoyed the constuction of your words, and the imagery was so vivid....
Other than feeling that this poem is about the coming of winter, I am left standing outside once again, Pablo. Though your words are expressive, and generally related to the cold and pains winter brings, there seemed to be resignation rather than emotion in this poem. It just didn't communicate that to me. Carl.
Our imagination takes us places we could never know in real life & this poem was the medium. Another remarkable piece of art. Thanks again
Keeps the interest alive in a heavy composition. Very nice, Pablo.10
Very beautiful - really enjoyed reading this. HG: -) xx
I think of the aging done by one still bristling within with fire and embers burning. And a repeated frost to bare it's head on one who recognizes the signs of aging. That's only one of several images I get from this wonderfully written poem. Congratulations!
This poem really has a gentle flowing pace filled with the personification and metaphors that you employed to give this reader almost a melancholy and serene vision like sitting by the fire inder a blanket waiting on the cold forst to come yet enjoying every minute in anticipation
First front in the morning light great! great! poem.........Full of hope, well written heartwarming piece woven with words of wisdom.........10+++
lovely the first frost is a clear ending of sorts, but its also a beginning. More than any other natural event, its an edge or dividing time that we can record each year as a point of reference. In New England the killing frost ---is the one that turns the last vulnerable plants to seaweed. nice write dear Pablo. Thanks for sharing +++++10 anjali
very nicely written really enjoyed it. you have the magical power to take the reader with you inside your lines and in your themes. well done thanks for sharing.
I am always nostalgic when I think of frost. Your last lines are superb. Beautiful work. I like this one very much. Warmest regards, Sandra