Poem 2, hour 2


He will not see me stopping here

But then why should I care if he does?

My life, my horse, my pace, right?

I wear the shoes, what if they pinch?

What if my horse has caught a burr?

And all I can manage is limp by limp.

If life depends on the liver,

Don’t I have the right to choose my gait?

Does it matter if my speed is off?

By the way, whose speedometer is counting the miles?

Still my life, my horse , my pace, right?

Well, right?

If right,

Then I don’t care who sees me stopping where!


Credit: First line taken from line 3 stanza 1 of Robert Frost’s stopping by woods on a snowy evening.

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