December's Dying Ember

A somber sort of poetry trickled through the air while I was out yesterday....like December's dying ember.

Tremor of tempest-tune teases the sky

Waning of afternoon whispers good-bye

Murmur of moment-swoon tickles the brook

Ribbon of silver through time’s storybook

Paupers on palace-lawns beneath God’s keep

Wander where the old year yawns half asleep

Summer-spent teasel and autumn-bent brush

Etched on an easel of winter-land hush

Joy’s gleaming trumpet and grief’s tolling bell

Serenade laughter and sorrow’s farewell

Fine intermingling, this gold, gray and blue

Exiling welcome gilds earth’s avenue

Wanton wind ambles through woodland’s lost crown

Moss-on-stone jewels bedeck her dull gown

Nevermore duels with daydreaming bliss

Hunger refuels the want of love’s kiss

December's embers are losing their glow
The heart remembers; a hearth in the snow
Truth's gentle bearing tempers restless youth
Rigid, yet caring where time runs, uncouth

Moments are more than God’s jest ‘neath the sun

Hours, the door to where All is begun

This Grand Before of life’s four-season years

Leads to a shore where all time disappears

© Janet Martin