Confessions

This is the time of day
As night begins to slip away
And chartreuse fingers brush the sky
Snuffing the twinkling lullaby
And slumbering violets lift their heads
To see the dawn of pinks and reds
Mirrored in a dewy kiss
While blossoms snow upon the grass
And songbird carols fill the air
As night drifts upward like a prayer
And weariness has been subdued
In hands and feet with zeal renewed
Yet memories linger achingly
On fingers of the willow tree
Where once we sat a little while
And languished in the others smile
But that like all else slips away
To grace the fields of yesterday
And I must cling to sound belief
There is an end to temporal grief
And failure is not a destiny
Nor is love a fantasy
But it seem this is the time of day
As charcoal softens to pale gray
Snuffing out the starry host
Oh, this is when I miss you most

Janet~