A Cricket Sang Good Luck
I sat against your knees all night.
I watched the sun rise in your coffee cup.
In all that time you never spoke to me.
I think I must have cried a thousand tears.
Inside the wall a cricket sang good luck.
The irony of that did not escape you.
For when I tilted up my chin you smiled
To think how once he conned us with that song.
The morning rises white against the pane,
Bland as a sheet of paper without words.
Our eyes communicate it silently,
I think this fog goes on and on, my friend.
I sat against your knees all day.
I watched the sun sink in your coffee cup.
I think we must have cried a thousand tears.
Before the cricket sang us both to sleep.
From my book, 'The Colors Cry In Rain', Apollo Books, USA
Sandra Fowler's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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