A Hymn To Frost Poem by Sandra Fowler
A Hymn To Frost
Old leaves have no defence against the wind.
A gray hawk is October's inner cry.
The bells of Salem church play elegies.
Distance becomes a single snowflake's fall.
The mood is blue as autumn's last frost flowers,
Small bits of heaven hidden in the grass.
Tom Roach who called them by their favored name,
Went home across the green fields long ago.
Yet sometimes when the light moves slowly west,
And bells summon a faithful few for prayers,
I see his shadow picking a bouquet.
To live in memory is to be alive.
For my grandfather who started to work in the coal mines of West Virginia when he was twelve years old.
A wonderful and fitting tribute Sandra, this poem contains such beautiful imagery. Love, Andrew x
Came upon this piece jsut now Sandra and it touches the heartstrings, it is a lovely tribute to your grandfather/ thank you for writing and sharing. from Fay.
Going home across the green fields- impressive poem phrase, Sandra...a good poem...wonderful way of remembering your grandpa...10/10
Old leaves...... beautiful ppoem with deep emotions...........
This piece is beautiful. (I miss my grandfather desperately. he worked on the railway.)
A beautiful and moving tribute. Stanza 1: The older one gets, the harder it is to defend oneself from the inevitable circumstances of life. Like 'old leaves, ' we become so fragile. Stanza 2: “Small bits of heaven hidden in the grass.” Trying to keep winter at bay. Stanza 3: “To live in memory is to be alive.” Such comfort this verse gives. And may you ever find comfort in your grandfather’s precious memories.
A wonderful tribute to your grandfather! Beautiful poetic imagery! You coul be a good landscape painter as well! 10++++ -Raj Nandy
A brilliant compliment allegorical words. 10+++ for this excellent poem.
A wonderful tribute with a very nice figurative language..............10+++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/6/2025 3:12:05 AM # 1.0.0
I see his shadow picking a bouquet. To live in memory is to be alive.....Who can describe the nature's glory, better than this poet in PH.....Good Write........