The lonely landscape whispers of itself.
Yesterday's shadow overtakes the field.
Lost in such thoughts we wonder what to do?
Bones are not strong enough to turn sunset.
Windows of home shine over the next hill.
Why must warmth always seem so far away?
Perhaps it might come closer if the dusk
Could understand the human need for light.
For all those who have lost their way.
Previously published The World Poets Quarterly, China
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Comments about this poem (Lost by Sandra Fowler )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(2 November 1994)
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