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

A Lowering Day

Sometimes on lowering days I think of you
And watch the clouds create your Slavic face.
True poetry is ageless I am told,
But those who pen it are as frail as smoke.

The gray sound of an Appalachian bell
Rings in the rare gift of another year.
Your work has gone beyond the calendar,
A bright thought that exceeds all imagery.

Trees weave intricate patterns upon dusk.
My fingers trace the elegance of form.
The music of the landscape plays old verse.
It lights my little corner of the world.

Copyright,2009, Sandra Fowler

User Rating: 3,7 / 5 ( 41 votes ) 31

Comments (31)

I hear music when I read this poem. It plays a sonata to the soul.
sandraji, wonderful lines..... reading you is such a beautiful experience as images moves away like a movie..... so powerful...intense... i am wordless.......... thanks.............
Beautiful poem. I admire your skill. Jim
Your verse resounds - Gray sounds lowering days, but the ancient bells sound, evoking memory and hope; the clouds are great image makers, those that weave intricate patterns are makers of wonderful imagery -a lovely experience
Your exquisite poem evokes so many feelings, Sandra. A little sadness, peacefullness, nostalgia... I especially love the last two lines. This one is a 10 for sure. Have a wonderful day. Ron
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