Poems about habit
That Sense Was Reaching Him
his habit is severe
while i was reaching him
was it the mat winked,
that sense was breaking through
that if the spirit like to hide
but say my apron bring the sticks
for fear i hear her say
That Ran To Meet Us
blew out itself for fear
these adjust that ran to meet us
those who begin today
here said the year
and that i am coming too
for i inhabit her
and so with lives
and assumes from home
she's busy with an altered care
myself can own the key
But There Was No Wonder I Thought That
but there was no one, i was somewhere wondering
no wonder i was glad to get away,
these latter about to fall, i thought that only
but i have promises to keep,
"when was i ever anything but kind to him?
"if you do!"she was opening the door wider,
blurred it, blotted it out, what was that whiteness?
it seems forever
the woods around it have it - it is theirs,
not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?
as it ran light, or had to bear a load,
just as you will till it becomes a habit,
a board is the best weapon if you have it,
To Go There,
we did that day was mingle great and small
"home is the place where, when you have to go there,
to be coming home the way i was,
it will be long ere the marshes resume,
just as you will till it becomes a habit,
since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven as yet
to which it is reserved for god above
see nothing worthy to have been its mark,
they did not have the wit to say,
on the sidehill, we haven't to mind those,
when supper's on the table, and we'll see
and all the time we talked you seemed to see
on the sidehill, we haven't to mind those,
where they have left not one stone on a stone,