Shadows

Why is it a shadow is so often
More lovely than reality
Like the blue tracery of trees on snow?
The shadow of a bird cast on earth,
Or aeroplane
On the land as you pass over.
Fish just before they come up
To ring the surface of a lake
And the profile cast by a candle.
Above all
Blue shadows on snowdrifts.


© The Estate of Dorothy Cowlin 2009–2021. All rights reserved.

This poem is known to have appeared in the following publication:

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