The window to the night is open wide
The earth; a silver chariot bathed in mist
I cannot sleep; thought beckons me to ride
An invitation I cannot resist
The moonlight bleeds a mellow, yellow glow
Before it slips into the onyx deep
A mystic vault where time and eons flow
In rivers formed by moments as they weep
And from its shores the stirring of a breeze
Ruffles June’s verdant maple canopies
Time, like an eager, dancing, prancing stead
Urges us on against our meager will
And though we beckon, barter, beg and plead
It rushes, even while the night is still
And every azure gasp of summer’s noon
Each pulse as pain and pleasure interlace
And every bursting bud of mortal June
Will flow into this vault of ethereal space
And all that was today will be no more
History seals the gates to its vast shore
Once, on a younger day its rush was sweet
We leapt upon this phantom stallion’s back
But now the bounding, pounding of his feet
Have trampled far too soon life’s beaten track
The window to the night is open wide
I catch the tempo of a languid tone
Akin to echoes on a mountain-side
Of mother calling all her children home
And to this plaintive call I must reply
For life is small beneath Time’s little sky
© Janet Martin
