(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.

by Sandra Fowler

Comments (58)

Love this, it is beautifully written and conjures up many beautiful images Laurie Hill
A delicious write, that leaves my pallet with a most pleasant aftertaste. Bravo. Brilliant. PEACE
trust you to translate my whispers, Friend And send them back before the music ends. Never let the music of this poem end a sit whispers thru the trees...a poem of thought thru this great mind words from Sandra...regards
I have read this several times now, and each time find within something touching thank you michael
there is too much that to a poet is far away and at the same time terribly close. thanks! john
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