In which poetry will out

So, I’m not known for my poetry — and justly so.  However, the Late Universal Upheaval has put into my hands two of my very few poems, on paper that is so fragile I fear that they’ll be dust the next time somebody looks into the file.

I therefore transcribe them below, for Posterity.


As near as I can tell, these were both written in 1978.  The second has a title; the first does not.  Both are ©Sharon Lee.

A Voice is singing in the Dark
In half a thousand shades
Weaving colors that defy the Night
And will not let it in.

A Singer sings within the Night
Aloud, but quite alone
Building rainbow walls against the Dark
’til rescued by the Dawn.



I know you
Of old.
Very Old . . .
The face you wore was different
And your voice sang greener notes
But I knew you then
As I know you now
And shall know you ever on.

I do know you
Very well indeed.
Your favorite color?
Or taste in books?
The music that shades your days?
Mysteries that lack meaning,
Shadowed by what we see
For I know you.
Yes, I know you
Very well indeed.

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