Come, come, the morn has broken
Through shadow-chains, deep blue
It splays love’s faithful token
Across earth’s avenue
The hour like a flower
Unfolds from bud to bloom
Before its petals shower
An hour’s ether tomb
Come, come and do not tarry
For lo, upon the breeze
I sense the phantom hurry
Of ‘almost memories’
Tomorrow is a thought, love
And yesterday a ghost
But come, the morning offers
To us life’s uttermost
Come, come, the jars of sorrow
Will brim with love’s lament
But we can never borrow
A moment that is spent
And joy in equal portions
Is waiting to bestow
Hope’s moment-mimed allotment
As by God’s grace we go
Come, come, for soon dusk-shadows
Will draw to Naught’s embrace
The after math of scattered
Expenditures of grace
And we, Time's fellow-creatures
Cannot afford to miss
The fullness of a morning
That soon no longer is…
© Janet Martin
Off to its graces! Happy Thursday.
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!