Last Light Poem by Sandra Fowler
Last Light
Blue wind upon a distant windowpane,
I hear you whistle folk songs to the rain
In tune with leaves that have no place to go.
Last light becomes the only home they know.
My friend, I feel your hand upon my skin.
The essence of the mood is paper thin.
Against the awesome turning of the earth,
Warmth has about a cup of coffee's worth.
Previously published, 'Poetry Depth Quarterly'
Two quatrains here, contain such meaning, and so many sensual elements - sound, sight, touch - then the taste and scent of coffee enfold the senses. Truly, the sweetest moments we know on Earth are defined by moments savored one by one, but memory oft has to serves as proxy. The length of time a cup of coffee may retain its heat is universe enough.
Sandra - What are we in comparison to the indestructible world around us, just a cup of coffee's worth. At least a little warmth is something! Thank you for this! Cheryl
Sandra, this is a brilliant poem. Appreciated. Top score and to my favourite! !
the dying light, the enroaching chill.... love the last line especially....
Unearthly charm in your precious writes gives a feel of worthiness to your excellent quill. God's blessings on you ever. arya.
You are a great metaphyscal poet, can compare with Donne The last and the last and the last lightpost, Still don't know where is the Ghost! Your imagery here is comparable to that of Eliot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/7/2025 3:46:44 AM # 1.0.0
Warm, comely expression of passion...And, as with all your work...this too is yet another breathtaker. ~ FjR ~