Poem XII: Nothing

In a thought
Or a dream half-remembered
Evergreens, snow
Sheet of grey sky
That speck of black
Is a cabin afar
Solitude lives there

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"I want to write a poem." I thought, but was rebuked by my inner monologue. "You have nothing you wish to express" it said. "Very well," I replied, "then I'll write a poem about nothing."