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