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

A Scent Of Snow

The moon is lemon light, November cold.
The wind is blowing colors all apart.
Old leaves are writing their last signature
Upon the dimming windows of the world.

Time is a gray bird grazing fingertips.
It flies so far the mind cannot forge chains.
One feather falls like solace on bare hands,
An autumn gesture, yet how comforting!

A scent of snow is fragrant on the air.
Deep hollows will be filled with small white stars.
The very thought of that is beautiful,
A lunar landscape fit for fairy tales.

Our night is falling in the window glass,
Subtle as shadows, all its secrets kept.
You paint me quatrains for a souvenir,
Verses become my early Christmas gift.

2008, Sandra Fowler

User Rating: 4,0 / 5 ( 51 votes ) 46

Comments (46)

‘…You paint me quatrains for a souvenir, /Verses become my early Christmas gift.’ I’ve souvenired-in your picturesque metaphor bounty and envy your poetic-psychic-eyes….lolol… 10+ Ms. Nivedita UK
Exquisite and uplifting - the color chosen 'lemon light' so cold I can feel it...another masterpiece Sandra
Excellent poem with excellent imageries.
Sandra, Your first para itself becomes a part of 'classical poetry', - to remain evergreen in the minds of all true poetry lovers! I keep reading poems written by poets of all Nationalities beyond 'poemhunter.com'! I have yet to find such picturesque, beautiful original expressions like yours! ! 10++++++++ With love! - Raj Nandy
I never knew such beauty could be seen in lemon light....wonderful...moist eyed in awe John
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