(1) Last Light by Sandra Fowler

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(1) Last Light

Blue wind upon a distant windowpane,
I hear you whistle folk songs to the rain
In tune with leaves that have no place to go.
Last light becomes the only home they know.

My friend, I feel your hand upon my skin.
The essence of the mood is paper thin.
Against the awesome turning of the earth,
Warmth has about a cup of coffee's worth.

Previously published, 'Poetry Depth Quarterly'

Sandra Fowler

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, aryaindia (9/8/2008 6:49:00 AM)
Unearthly charm in your precious writes gives a feel of worthiness to your excellent quill. God's blessings on you ever. arya.

C. P. Sharma (9/6/2008 1:31:00 AM)
You are a great metaphyscal poet, can compare with Donne

The last and the last and the last lightpost,
Still don't know where is the Ghost!

Your imagery here is comparable to that of Eliot.

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