A Wisp Of Smoke Poem by Sandra Fowler
A Wisp Of Smoke
The moon falls March white on old sycamores,
As good-bye as the glitter of a tear.
Warmth is a word too fragile to be said,
Love fey blue as a wisp of winter smoke.
The glamor is almost intangible,
Vision a whisper of its former self.
You clasp my hand to still the fleeting mood.
I promise you I will not close my eyes.
Copyright,2009, Sandra Fowler
There are many more poems to be written, Sandra. Glamor and warmth are 'misused' words and you know their meaning, Sandra. Shine on.
There is such delicacy in this piece, Sandra - translucent is the word that comes to mind. You take an ordinary picture and imbue it with such subtlety and finesse, it becomes extraordinary. But then your work is always extraordinary and timeless in its power to enchant this reader. Love, Alison ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
warmth is a word to fragile to be said...almost to beautiful so..warmest thanks for sharing....John
A beautifully written piece Sandra, the first line is truly fantastic, wonderful imagery. Best wishes, Andrew x
S, you are a poetic genius. I don't know why, but this brings tears to my eyes. Really so. And in the 'I don't know why' lies your genius, I guess. t x
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/5/2025 3:59:35 AM # 1.0.0
Sandra, Your at your best in imagery and rhytm in your successive poems. Your soul speaks through them and I feel exorted when I read them. With chage in season the birds migrate, Bid adieu to chill, find spring to celebrate. In life seasons come and go, Life bird to them doesn't bow. Why we be the victim of Time! Why not enjoy the eternal rhyme! Ever your friend, CP