I watched you on your winter’s walk,
a muffled neck and steady stalk,
unbothered by the wind or snow
or the invite of my window’s glow.
I cracked the shutters, waved you in,
made my brother practice his violin.
I had a glimpse through curtain lace,
of a thoughtful smile upon your face.
I watched you walk right out of town,
the dark descending like a frown
around the fragile gleam of ice,
a thief absconding with his heist.
I snuffed the candles, went to bed,
disappointment pillow for my head.
Outside, a soft and aching creak
of firming ice or sad slow feet.
Poet's Note: This is in answer to Robert Frost's "Good Hours"
I'm still just a few hours behind the day, with this 10th OctPoWriMo entry. But I had fun with this prompt. The day's prompt: Write a reply to a favorite poem.
I had a few poems in mind but this poem of Frost's has been in my head since I was a young woman in college. I memorized it for an assignment in expressive reading. I chose it myself, read it over and over, kept it in my mouth and in my heart all these years later...I always felt a great kinship with the sentiments the poem conveyed.
For this poem-reply...I decided to step outside of that solitary winter walk and into the warm glow of the cottages that so charmed the speaker of that original work.