Poem By William Henry Davies

Boats for the dead
And reindeer passing through
The park,
Amidst the trees
Who are also for the dead,
snowflakes come as if on rails-
Like the swans in driveways
They don't know where
They are going
Once the light is lost-
We get skinnier because we
Don't eat dinner
As we sell Christmas trees
For the empty houses of housewives
Near the lake that is also empty
And so all of those kinds of
Trees surrender
Amidst the dead playgrounds
To the ghosts
Emptying tomorrow's years.

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