Mr. Twilight

For as long as I can remember

He climbs the beaming hill

And fills his pockets with the gold

That daylight hours spill

It seems I almost hear him

Strumming limbs and such

Humming as the shadows fall

Blue beneath his touch

I should like to join him

To stroll along the ridge

Where suddenly the afternoon

Is like a walking bridge

The landscape like a river

Where all its swarthy ships

Are harbored on earth’s dewy seas

Beneath his fingertips

He does not see me watching

I guess he never will

He always faces to the east

I live on the south hill

But often as he passes

I wipe a winsome tear

And blow a kiss for what yet is

But soon will disappear

© Janet Martin