You wrote your Yiddish signature in rain.
I could not match it in a thousand years.
Old words are classic to my memory.
Because of you, my feet have wings this day.

Gray music paints a picture of rare worth,
A Slavic image of an April mood,
Breaching the barrier of your last breath,
I should not wonder, Friend, you said it would.

'For a poet who was born in April and died in April'.

Copyright,2009, Sandra Fowler

Sandra Fowler

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gray-music/