A Year of Poems – Day 246

I often find myself craving a conversational style,
The sort of natural elegance of Robert Frost
Who made iambic pentameter sound like a childhood friend
who walks with you after school talking of comics and crushes,
But halfway through the conversation you realize he’s grown up.
You’re still talking about those things but somehow talking about more,
All because someone took each tired word up,
Appraised it, measured it, tailored it slightly
For you and only you.
That is not the power of poetry,
That is the power of a friend.

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