Stopping by my Brain, One Evening

With respects to Robert Frost.

Whose brain this is I think I know.
His mind is often elsewhere though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his psyche ebb and flow.

My little id must think it queer
To stop without an ego near
Between a dream and wide awake,
The starkest visions of the year.

I give my nervous cells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of nimble thought and steady ache

My brain is lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

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