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.
Sandra Fowler's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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