When This Day...

When this day is naught but an echo

Tuning its wisp of a sigh

Crooning ‘cross mesmerized meadow

Where sweet tender memories lie...

When this day is merely a murmur

Deep in the archives of thought

Like timorous strains of a swan-song

Keening love’s double-edge jot...

When this day is nothing but moments

Gathered back into the air

Where only our memories touch them

Meeting their infinite stare...

...When this day sweeps into the sunset

Riding on time’s winsome wing

And all we can see is its memory

Will it be beautiful thing?

© Janet Martin

I heard the echoes today while skiing the trail we walk in the other three seasons.