Sandra Fowler

Rookie (February,4,1937 / W. Columbia, WV, USA)

Sandra Fowler Poems

81. Profoundly Blue 10/14/2007
82. Bittersweet 6/9/2008
83. Charcoal Shadows 6/19/2009
84. A Winter Aeorgramme 12/23/2009
85. A Cosmos Burning Bright 8/31/2006
86. Mellow Light 3/13/2006
87. Appalachian Rain 1/11/2007
88. Whisper Killed 9/17/2006
89. Gray Is Beautiful 6/5/2006
90. Wind Harp 11/23/2009
91. An Elegy In Frost 10/21/2006
92. A Touch Of Gold 12/7/2008
93. Swift Wings 5/27/2009
94. The Old House Rides On Morning 8/23/2009
95. A Fond Farewell 5/24/2007
96. The Joy Of Being 3/1/2008
97. Mortality 6/19/2009
98. A Call For August 7/4/2006
99. A Touch Of White 2/4/2009
100. I Count The Frosts 12/29/2008
101. (1) Blue Windows-For Rajaram Ramachandran 6/29/2008
102. Dawn Light 4/7/2009
103. January Mist 1/5/2008
104. A Keepsake 6/13/2007
105. Birds Of New York' 8/23/2009
106. A Sunset Song 1/30/2007
107. Distance Is Blue 10/2/2008
108. A Touch Of Sunset 3/12/2007
109. A Lowering Day 1/18/2009
110. Do You Remember? 12/7/2005
111. A Touch Of Amber 9/8/2009
112. A Wisp Of Smoke 3/18/2009
113. I Met You In A Poem 3/3/2006
114. Gray Music 4/29/2009
115. A Touch Of Verse 11/23/2007
116. A Smoke Picture 7/28/2009
117. A Shadow Beautiful 6/13/2007
118. A Scent Of Coffee 4/18/2007
119. A Scent Of Snow 11/12/2008
120. (1) Afterthoughts 4/9/2008
Best Poem of Sandra Fowler

(1) Before The Music Ends

Words paint a fragile picture of the dusk.
I think them to a poet far away.
The light shines dim upon my windowpane.
A few tears fall like blue rain in the mind.

Our time has been short listed by sunset,
No matter that the weather has its way,
The stresses live within their measurement,
And distance is a gift we give ourselves.

This moment is designed to be as spare
And elegant as winter's old, gnarled trees.
I trust you to translate my whispers, Friend
And send them back before the music ends.

Read the full of (1) Before The Music Ends

You Need Not Know

House corners sing a wind song to the blues.
The air randomly flows with shadow trees.
You come to me across the fading fields.
The passion in your tired face lights the dusk.

I want to tell you, though you bring no flower,
That I have all I wanted from the fall,
But you press your hand hard against my mouth.
The moment is too simple for much speech.

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