Monday, June 29, 2015

Circle of Life





Morning’s fresh foothold tenders
Its gold; noon beams like a bride
Until soon it surrenders
To eventide
Time’s newest death is twilight
Purple mist enshrouds
What not so long ago fell through
Dawn’s shallow clouds
We follow in its footsteps
Though often we forget
Because the heart full of love’s wars
Is not dead yet

© Janet Martin

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