My Prose
No Voice
Amber In The Fog
Meeting Shakespeare
An Old Mine
Blue And Gray
              Summer's Last Song

I am the pause, the blush,
          On love letter's last line,
Lingering . . . like the scent of soap
          After fresh shower.

I am a late shadow in the sunset,
          Growing taller,
Summer's last song . . . singing
          In evening breeze.

I am the aroma of fir needles,
          In Indian Summer forest,
The breath . . . behind butterfly wing,
          Clinging delicately in autumn sun.

I am a late rose,
          A sparkling diamond,
Trembling . . . tempting,
          In Fall's first frost.

I am measured in a heartbeat.
I am . . .

                                                                   Sheryl Hamilton Chaney
The Key
The Twelth Night Cake
The Wind

I am a walnut tree
In yellow raincoat.
Eyes wide open,
Rain drops dancing—
Dancing in autumn colors.

Watching my beauty fade,
I shiver---
Now leaves on the ground.
A lonely bird flits
From one tree to the next.

Calling . . . Catching me off guard.
Rekindling forgotten passion.
For a moment warmth returns.
I whirl in a new green skirt.
Ignoring the thick carpet

The clock ticks on,
And the warmth is leaving.
I shiver---
My arms surround me,
Bare tree limbs in the wind.

Sheryl Hamilton Chaney