by John Timothy Robinson
The elegance of light through sconce-dust glass
with swirled, transparent fingerprints in grooves
is not as pleasing when the chill sweeps past,
this image, so cliché, yet still as true.
Six tiny candles
flicker in darkness
as frozen rain hammers
tree-limbs to the ground.
They said that snow will fall again tonight,
and far away, as we have sighed, fall asleep,
someone’s feet walk in foreign soil, won’t see
the elegance of light through sconce-dust glass.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing