Found Poetry 1,072

7/3/22

from pushing hands
that spot on the door got rubbed away
as if wood can evaporate
or paint can grow legs and run

touch me the same and take some of me
smooth my skin like sandpaper
I'll be the pantry door with good stuff inside
that you have to stand tiptoe to reach

This poem was created from Walden by Henry Thoreau. Click here to get Walden.

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