Of Things Uncommon

 

Somewhere night’s gentle quiet pales

And from the far horizon hails

Life-lines, familiar yet quite new

…this day unlike our other few

For it has never warmed the lane

Before; and never will again

The pace of moments does not still

But molds the old with new until

Our farewell to earth’s common sod

As we go on to meet our God

Now, common morning sweeps earth’s shore

But never quite like this before

Soon trampled underfoot, its spoil

Through sabers of mute moment-moil

Will snag the hedge and tease our grasp

Whilst shaping memories we clasp

As Time is bent with the delight

Of common morning, noon and night

We do not live in days or years

But in moment-to-moment spheres

Ah, weaver of lifetimes; its ilk

Slips through the air in ether silk

Of dark and light; say, what is this

That warms the midnight with its kiss?

Is nothing new under the sun?

Aye, nay; yet virgin, every dawn

See how it softly seeps, unmarred

As we embrace her dancing card

This thing, so common unto men

Will never pass this way again

© Janet Martin