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Click hereI feel sorry for
people who don't enjoy
spending time with themselves,
browsing through gift stores.
having lunch in a diner,
anything they please.
When I go out to shovel,
lifting shovel after shovel of snow,
thoughts sift through my brain
like the downy flakes below.
Or when I'm in my garden
pulling out the weeds,
venting all my aggression,
until I'm at peace.
What better companion
than to be with myself?
Great poem although I am normally swearing at the weatherman when I'm shoveling.
This poem is mentioned in today's New Poem Review in the Poetry Feedback and discussion forum. Thanks for the read!