Thursday, October 30, 2014

Mr. Twilight

For as long as I can remember
He climbs the beaming hill
And fills his pockets with the gold
That daylight hours spill
It seems I almost hear him
Strumming limbs and such
Humming as the shadows fall
Blue beneath his touch

I should like to join him
To stroll along the ridge
Where suddenly the afternoon
Is like a walking bridge
The landscape like a river
Where all its swarthy ships
Are harbored on earth’s dewy seas
Beneath his fingertips

He does not see me watching
I guess he never will
He always faces to the east
I live on the south hill
But often as he passes
I wipe a winsome tear
And blow a kiss for what yet is
But soon will disappear

© Janet Martin


  1. Lovely.... that photo is amazing. And I'm tickled by the line 'and fills his pockets with the gold'.


  2. thank-you Brenda, this time of year the colors of dusk are so vivid...and early!


Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!