Frail woodsmoke smells as fragrant as the dusk, <br />A West Virginia red bird for your thoughts. <br />Our shadows stretch as far as Salem church, <br />The place where poetry first came to me. <br /> <br />Two miles away in West Columbia, <br />A train whistles its version of the blues. <br />The landscape fades in tune with loneliness. <br />Such sweet sadness is not replacable. <br /> <br />It is the last day for the goldenrod. <br />Old eyes record the fall of mellow light. <br />Frost is only a windowpane away. <br />You close my fingers on a sunset leaf. <br /> <br />Copyright,2008, Sandra Fowler<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/before-the-frost/
