Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
An Elegy In Frost
Cold sunshine writes our elegy in frost,
Author of light a million snowflakes lost,
All gone forever into swirling air,
A dance of death that is no longer there.
Pure poetry becomes a stanza said,
Classical white a message left unread,
While we stand longing for a winter past,
Hurt by a mood that was too fey to last.
West is a shadow wrapped around frail bones,
Your hand in mine for eloquence atones.
Touch is a brevity that needs no sound
To turn the weather of the world around.
poem
by
Sandra Fowler
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black