Friday, January 17, 2014

Of Things Uncommon



 

Somewhere night’s gentle quiet pales
And from the far horizon hails
Life-lines, familiar yet quite new
…this day unlike our other few
For it has never warmed the lane
Before; and never will again

The pace of moments does not still
But molds the old with new until
Our farewell to earth’s common sod
As we go on to meet our God
Now, common morning sweeps earth’s shore
But never quite like this before

Soon trampled underfoot, its spoil
Through sabers of mute moment-moil
Will snag the hedge and tease our grasp
Whilst shaping memories we clasp
As Time is bent with the delight
Of common morning, noon and night

We do not live in days or years
But in moment-to-moment spheres
Ah, weaver of lifetimes; its ilk
Slips through the air in ether silk
Of dark and light; say, what is this
That warms the midnight with its kiss?

Is nothing new under the sun?
Aye, nay; yet virgin, every dawn
See how it softly seeps, unmarred
As we embrace her dancing card
This thing, so common unto men
Will never pass this way again

© Janet Martin


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