Sandra Fowler (February,4,1937 / W. Columbia, WV, USA)
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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