Sandra Fowler
W. Columbia, WV, USA
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Before The Frost

Rating: 5.0
Frail woodsmoke smells as fragrant as the dusk,
A West Virginia red bird for your thoughts.
Our shadows stretch as far as Salem church,
The place where poetry first came to me.

Two miles away in West Columbia,
A train whistles its version of the blues.
The landscape fades in tune with loneliness.
Such sweet sadness is not replacable.
It is the last day for the goldenrod.
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COMMENTS
Luis Gil 22 February 2009
I will never forget the red cardinals on my windowpane in Morgantown.... Thanks for the poem, Sandra.
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Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr 07 November 2008
Sandra....i'm looking at the scads of comments, all of which very accurately depict this piece as another work of imagical grace...And, so, what more could i say, that had not already been said...Then i read the piece again...and it then struck me...This poem subtlely, yet markingly touches on each and one of all five senses(touch, scent, sight, sound, and taste(you magically create a sense of taste through your vivid detail of scent) ....and of course, there was a sixth sense...that always shines through like a lighthouse beacon...your 6th sense for poetic prowess! Excellent Work, Young Lady! *F*j*R*
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Robert Siney 07 November 2008
This is a beautiful piece. Although the emotion isn't in-your-face, or blatant, the emotive subtext combined with the imagery is wonderful. I particularly liked 'A train whistles its version of the blues'. Beautiful line. This is my first reading of your work but I'm very impressed and shall read on. Well done on a great poem.
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Naseer Ahmed Nasir 05 November 2008
A beautiful and sweet poem entwined with nostalgia and sadness. Only you can write such a mild and mellow poem, Sandra. Best Regards.
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premji premji 02 November 2008
i am yet to watch frost but i felt is really while reading you...
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Raveendran . 30 October 2008
I smell the frail woodsmoke, as fragrant as the dusk and in my mind a train whistles its version of the blues. The mellow light is only a windowpane away
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Chitra - 27 October 2008
a nostalgic masterpiece
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Uriah Hamilton 26 October 2008
Poetry is always born In shrines of sadness Like your Salem church And settles lightly On a fragile goldenrod. Uriah Hamilton
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Tsira Goge 26 October 2008
A train whistles its version of the blues. ......................................................... Very beautiful poems. And I felt a blues rhythm together with you, as live... 10... Best wishes, Tsira
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Mary Naylor 26 October 2008
Your poem is so beautiful. I love the way you make 'sweet sadness' tangible through the train's whistle. Your poem drifts through the mind as beautifully and as naturally as the fragile autumn leaves drift from the trees.
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