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Today's is a short poem about the joy of being alone.
(It should be read twice.)

Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter

Robert Bly

It is a cold and snowy night. The main street is deserted.
The only things moving are swirls of snow.
As I lift the mailbox door, I feel its cold iron.
There is a privacy I love in this snowy night.
Driving around, I will waste more time.

from Silence in the Snowy Fields, 1953
Wesleyan University Press, Middletown, Conn.