Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Nocturne



Soft as thistle-down the hour
Like a bitty butterfly
Like the petal of a flower
Like the tremor of a sigh
Like the flicker of a candle
Like the shiver of a breeze
Tips its teeny hat, unravels
Leaving only memories
 

Soft as silver mist the twilight
Gathers to its phantom fold
Frameworks filled with almost-midnight
Caskets filled with gray and gold
Where the dark is like an ocean
Slowly rolling toward shore
Until intangible motion
Swallows up what is no more



© Janet Martin


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