Words paint a fragile picture of the dusk. <br />I think them to a poet far away. <br />The light shines dim upon my windowpane. <br />A few tears fall like blue rain in the mind. <br /> <br />Our time has been short listed by sunset, <br />No matter that the weather has its way, <br />The stresses live within their measurement, <br />And distance is a gift we give ourselves. <br /> <br />This moment is designed to be as spare <br />And elegant as winter's old, gnarled trees. <br />I trust you to translate my whispers, Friend <br />And send them back before the music ends.<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/1-before-the-music-ends/
