Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Almost Midnight

The hour is threadbare now and still
The moon a wraith o’er timbered hill
And where not very long ago
Dusk scrawled blue shadows on the snow
Now everything is dark and deep
Where all but waifs and poets sleep

…and what was new this very day
Seals in time’s grave its gold and gray
The air is rife with quietness
Almost midnight; that winsome tress
Where today pauses; sweet and strange
While clocks perform a swift exchange

...as today turns to Yesterday
And Tomorrow is now Today
The old refurbished, fresh and keen
Morning's slate waits, unmarked and clean
The clock strikes twelve, no grand applause
As all that is slips to what was

© Janet Martin


  1. Wonderful shot, Janet and I loved your poem.
    Nice way to end my day.

    Good night.


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