Let rain forever make gray music, Friend.
Such sadness makes a sweet sound on the glass.
I wonder if that white owl on the hill
Knows lonesome well enough to sing it down.
We cannot call back distant August days
When goldenrod had power to warm the soul.
And yet night vision is a wondrous thing.
It measures drops of darkness on old roofs.
Previously Published, 'Poetry Depth Quarterly'.
Your words are golden Sandra, I'm in awe everytime I read your work. --Melvina--
Music, vision and mood - all delicately entwined in this reflective and soulful write. 'Let rain forever make gray music' - your word paintings never cease to colour the canvas of my mind Sandra. Loved it. Justine x
We cannot call back distant August days When goldenrod had power to warm the soul................... yet beautifully eclectic with imagery rousing soulful..unique exporession, lovely poem, wel; lpenned, . thanks
'And yet night vision is a wondrous thing.', yes it is Sandra. Always love the way your words embrace the senses. Hugs, Diane
how well you connect one to another...old memories to night vision...along with rain...in a lonely atmosphere....artistic and classy..
hello dear ma'am! ! ! hey this is very flowery, lovey, , beautiful, lovely write indeed! ! ! .. and in a way this one is sort of Gothic aspect too! ! ! .. nice write ma'am with lots of love shan
we drank the oceans of sadness just to feel the taste of tranquility.............
night vision wonderful metaphor depicting the essence of old memories
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is always amazing how you can fold mood, image, and sound together. One might almost touch the windowpane, to feel as well as hear the gray music. The August goldenrods are never lost, perhaps; memories pervade this poem. - Will