Blue streets are lost. <br />Snow like an avalanche of velvet birds, <br />Spins morning through a fragile, parchment song. <br />Which one of us dares hold it to the light? <br /> <br />Such lonesome hands <br />That shaped a shadow home from winter smoke. <br />Poems burn low behind the window glass. <br />Frost paints a flower for emptiness to hold. <br /> <br />Will you find me <br />Some day when streets bring back the dusk again? <br />You need not wait for January, Friend. <br />Snow is a mood. This winter is for you. <br /> <br />Previously published in my book, 'Ever Sunset' Skylark Publications, India <br />Copyright, Sandra Fowler<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-shadow-home/
