Frost Bitten
Cold is the road less travelled, by me,
As Frost coats my heart with sheets of white.
What made all the difference was thee,
That took the first road that you could see;
Around the bend and out of my sight.
I chose the path of fortune and fame,
Crossed the river of words with no flow,
That Robbed my muse; crying out your name.
Life without you just isn't the same,
And I grow weary of the endless snow.
I looked for some kind of compromise,
And with a sigh, I searched down deep,
Down the road, yet no Lee-way found my eyes.
Two roads and one choice was my demise,
I took the one that brings winter's sleep.
Dormant I lie, dreaming of spring;
Please, no more rime, for I am Frostbitten.
I long for flowers and birds to sing,
and you, my love, my vital musing;
This poem wasn't meant to be written.
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