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A single hawk flies cold above the flowers,
Momentum quickly focused by the hour.
The mood requires warm bones against the frost,
Before the pattern is forever lost.
The shadow of pure flight hallows the ground,
Song fitly joined together without sound.
Veering is elegant against the pane.
Friend, time turns west upon that sunset plane.
Previously published, The World Poets Quarterly, China
Sandra Fowler
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User Rating: |
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9.9
/10
(10 votes) |
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Click here to write your comments about this poem (Pure Flight by Sandra Fowler)
Alison Cassidy (6/1/2007 7:51:00 PM)
You capture the solitary nature of your hawk with skill and grace in this majestic poem about the passing of time and the beauty of the seasons. I also pick up an emotional sub plot of regret and sweet sadness. Masterful poetry. love, Allie xxxx |
Will Barber (10/9/2006 12:54:00 AM)
Many moods and images are captured here - so many poets have praised this work, I merely wish to echo their thoughts. 'Warm bones against the frost' is what the spirit requires, always - the sun always westers, forever. - Will |
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