Like Frost ,I am acquainted with night
On sound- stopping watchman’s beat.

I do not know why and I am not Frost
But my watchman beats the sad road.

I fix this watchman in the Himalayas
Where beating watchmen arise from.

Midnight road is hollow from below
And side streets are dark and lonely.

Watchmen are stick walkers of night
As poets sit near machines of words.

Watchmen must be in their felt caps
Sad in the inside roads of their lives.

(Inspired by the watchman in Robert Frost’s poem Acquainted with the night”)

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