On a quiet stroll
down a leaf-dark lane,
I met a young man
from the past.
He was drifting
toward tomorrow,
unready for the glare
that was waiting in ambush,
and by the harsh light,
of another day,
he would see
that his letters
to the North Pole
would never be answered.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
18 March 2025
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