Monday, January 15, 2018

Before Twilight Closes In







Light of day strikes snow-white cymbals
Lyricist of hill and dell
Spills inkwells of blush-bronze-purple
From a gold and coral bell

Thrums in hollows, hums o’er fallow
Strums the silver-frosted frond
Minstrel of brook’s shimm’ring shallow
Glides across ice-embossed pond

Sprinkles diamonds on the woodlot
Twinkles on the window pane
Sparkles in a quiet riot
On a star-embellished lane

Tweaks the chin of downcast dancers
Up, look up, The Maestro cries
Lest in vain we long for answers
While hope’s angel-throng replies

Kissing common curves with tincture
From a grace-anointed touch
Hinting at a bigger picture
Than the font of such-and-such

Teasing us with tender torment
Easing us from dance to dance
Teaching us to treasure moments
Before seasons still their stance

Shaping Time Enough to echoes
Live-laugh-love, the poets charge
While we grasp at hold and let go
Dripping from a quill at large

Quick, slow-down, stop, run, don’t dawdle
Tick-tock mocks the clock-ish sky
Soon soft shroud of dusk will swaddle
Morning’s ‘thus’ in lullaby

This is us’ what a love-language
You and I, together ‘we
Darling, let’s not take for granted
Life’s free, finest luxury

Morning climbs above yon bowers
Like school-girls, we scale its grin
Searching frosted fields for flowers
Before twilight’s closes in

© Janet Martin


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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!