Evening Epitaph

Here lie the gathered moments of her day

A rendering to every man the same

Of hours, burnished gold or sullen gray  

Resting within past’s immortal acclaim

Here the deceased forevermore will rest

No horse-drawn procession draws her along

But crimson dirge upon the molten west

Consoles the bystander in vesper-song

Here lies mercy’s allotment of the dawn

Asleep within Time’s chimeral embrace

While trembling hope spurs us to journey on

To our repose; faith’s final resting place

© Janet Martin

Last night, Matthew tells me (as he leans on my chair reading the epitaph) he had a dream that he wishes he could paint; he and I popped out of the water in the Arctic where we saw the most amazing sunset, glaciers and strange, beautiful birds!