Whiling the While till the supper crew comes home...
Something soft and gentle as November's early twilight mantle falls...
When dusk is like a painting on a pedestal of air
When earth is reacquainting sod and sea with dimming flare
When blush-blue velvet duvet shrouds the shoulders of spent day
It seems a fitting homage to bow our heads and pray
For never-failing grandeur from a Hand we cannot see
He tucks November’s contours beneath twilight’s canopy
And deepens with sky-mantle, the ebbing landscape until
Earth is snuffed like a candle on an autumn window-sill
For articulate tugging on ties no one can define
As dark of night is hugging dusk’s westward horizon-line
For sense of Gentle Presence staying just beyond our gaze
Stirring in souls an essence when interpreted, is praise
It seems fitting to thank Him as history claims its due
In autumn-twilight anthem, for His never-changing view
O'er nation against nation, He ushers in evening
Fans feathers of compassion, tucks the world beneath His wing
© Janet Martin
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Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!