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

2 comments:

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

    Brenda


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

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