(Stan's Word WS) (Alteration of Frost's Good Hours)

I had not for this winter evening walk
my just passed friend with whom to talk.
Along I had the trees in a row
whispering playful sounds had come slow.

Then I summoned the memories within,
They played the sound of a violin.
The glimpse of the past interlaced.
and youthful forms were easily traced.

I had the pleasing laughter bound.
It evoked in me a sound so loud.
and though alone I headed home back
I wouldn't let his star dim-go black.

Over and over those memories would feed.
Never would pass, but with I'd proceed.
Unlike the profanation,of your leave
at ten o'clock on a winter eve.