Let rain forever make gray music, Friend. <br />Such sadness makes a sweet sound on the glass. <br />I wonder if that white owl on the hill <br />Knows lonesome well enough to sing it down. <br /> <br />We cannot call back distant August days <br />When goldenrod had power to warm the soul. <br />And yet night vision is a wondrous thing. <br />It measures drops of darkness on old roofs. <br /> <br />Previously Published, 'Poetry Depth Quarterly'.<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-vision-7/
