Monday, June 1, 2015

This Little While We Tended





When day is done
And all its fragments garnered
Into Past’s steadfast, Ever-cast repose
Its battles won
Or lost until tomorrow
When day is done what will dusk’s gates enclose?


When grief and joy
In sudden, strange encounters
Steals our breath or laughter’s lilting zest
What epitaphs
Will engrave twilight’s tombstone
Where daily deaths of bygone ages rest?


When day is done
And all its laymen slum’bring
As This and That by eventide’s side falls
When we dismantle
High-noon’s steel-fist struggling
To rest awhile ‘neath moonlight’s silver shawl

...where pink and gold
Folds Time’s fast-fading fortune
Into a Thing that no one can undo
Will it be worth
The little While we tended
When day is done and our life is through?

© Janet Martin

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