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

An Iron Gray Day

My friend, I met you on an iron gray day.
Winter like smoke blew our landscape away.
Quick as a yellow finch, time seemed to be
Too fragile for its own capacity.

A warm word fitly spoken against air,
Made the momentum of it seem less bare.
Still we were left to wonder in the frost.
Like poems when their power to rhyme is lost.

Previously Published: The World Poet's Quarterly.China

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 13 votes ) 18

Comments (18)

Thanks for to getting another oppertunity to read the great work, nothing else to say hats of to you, Best regards,10+++
Your poetry is always recognizable. The reader could never mistake it for anyone else's - and yet each poem has a distinctive quality that makes it unique. A colour perhaps, or a time of day. Two images in this poem have special significance for me: 'Quick as a yellow finch, time seemed to be Too fragile for its own capacity. 'Like poems when their power to rhyme is lost.' Again, you take the natural world and combine it impeccably with en emotional wistfulness and a pallet of singular colour. Enchanting poetry. love, Alison xxxx
I like it. Bill Grace
Sandra, this poem packs plenty of power, both in rhyme and substance. Great write! Brian
You write little, to say much...I love this. Intrigued with the way you introduce windows/smoke/frost into your work...visual 'aces' Best wishes :) Jack.
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