Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Thought Reaches Through the Waking-ness of Morn...





Thought reaches through the waking-ness of morn
How is it; from the dark a day is born
And from the day a night in soft descent
Soon tucks the earth beneath obsidian tent
Before the morn is re-born and the air
Is filled with untouched things and hope and prayer

Now it is spring and we are glad to dream
Though middle-age is caught somewhere between
The dash of youth and that more genteel pause
Where thought tends to retrace a time that was
…though we admit to be caught by surprise
At how blithely a little season flies

Upon the tree each bud unfolds its due
In flower-gardens brushed on azure blue
Before the fullness of green leaf applauds
The happiness of summer hours shod
With eager haste, for what; we cannot know
The lad beside me tugs my hand to ‘go’

Kind urgency of tick-tock taps its lay
The dole of Duty keeps our fears at bay
For evidence of grace ignites the sky
Where fretwork fields of ‘almost summer’ sigh
As tree-limbs flaunt lacy extravagance
We grasp the coat-tails of new day to dance

Thought reaches through the waking-ness of morn
How is it; from the dark a day is born
And from the day a night in soft descent
Soon tucks the earth beneath obsidian tent
Before the morn is re-born; now the air
Is filled with Majesty and hope and prayer

© Janet Martin

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