Sun's Last Grace Poem by Sandra Fowler
Sun's Last Grace
Your hands smell of wood shavings, sun's last grace.
That tawny essence fills all empty space.
I scarcely hear you talk of southbound birds.
Time has gone far beyond the mood of words.
The magic of the moment turns the landscape round.
That carousel defies all music to be found.
Only the wicked shadows carry us away
Into the insignificance of yesterday.
For we are common as the fallen leaves.
Who stops for them, or for such treasure grieves?
Frail bones enclose a memory that burns.
Smoke brings it back when bittersweet returns.
Friend. I shall love forever what is flawed,
The pattern of a hunter's face outlawed.
Thoughts trace him in the frost upon the glass.
Leaves whisper, hello, hello to the waiting grass.
I love the images Sandra! There is nothing more beautiful in my eyes than nature. Very lovely poem. Sincerely, Mary
Lovely poem Sandra. I love the special touches...............regards.............willow
i really think it was good i got a picture of it as i read it keep it up kelly
Leaves whisper, hello, hello to the waiting grass. Aha, Aha! You are truly gifted, my dear poet!
Reading in total admiration, you have a unique way of expressing yourself as only the very gifted can do.Your Poems are what we need on this planet Sandra. Thank you.
I am fighting hard to be part of that scenario that your mind produces. Wonderful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 6:36:58 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Again your thoughts in this poem revolve round the flying birds, fallen leaves, frosting glass, waiting grass, circling smoke and so on. If you come out and go beyond these objects, you may find better things more attrative to your eyes, that will form your popular theme for the next poems to come. Three cheers to you and go ahead writing nice poems like this one.