A Hymn To Frost
Old leaves have no defence against the wind.
A gray hawk is October's inner cry.
The bells of Salem church play elegies.
Distance becomes a single snowflake's fall.
The mood is blue as autumn's last frost flowers,
Small bits of heaven hidden in the grass.
Tom Roach who called them by their favored name,
Went home across the green fields long ago.
Yet sometimes when the light moves slowly west,
And bells summon a faithful few for prayers,
I see his shadow picking a bouquet.
To live in memory is to be alive.
For my grandfather who started to work in the coal mines of West Virginia when he was twelve years old.
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Comments about this poem (A Hymn To Frost by Sandra Fowler )
- Symphony, Col Muhamad Khalid Khan
- The hunter's trap - By POET Yaser Nadeem.., MOHAMMAD SKATI
- As passimist, hasmukh amathalal
- As golden, hasmukh amathalal
- without warning, with morning, Lucy Gray
- How to Pinda-Dana?, Bijay Kant Dubey
- We are neighbors, gajanan mishra
- Sonnet: How Cancers Kill!, Dr John Celes
- My love xi, binod bastola
- आंहा उदै बुंजासे आदार गैया, Ronjoy Brahma
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