The Morning of the Second Day of The New Year

And now the spout that doles time’s days has dripped one measure’s worth

Of this New year into that winsome, winding far-off firth

A glimmer from yon quiver to a shimmer that we chase

My, my, how swift the skyline dips to kiss dusk’s drowsy face

The scale that weighs the ways of men tips either left or right

The morning of the second day unveils its appetite

We stretch our mouths to drink anew from Bygone’s brimming base

Accepting invitations that oft thoughtless, we embrace

God’s laughter rends the sash that binds the darkness to the air

The tears we weep caught in His hands and held with utmost care

Where heaven gapes with gold; its mold of hope a shaping place

My, my how swift its morning and its evening interlace

Dawn's white-capped moments murmur like a summer full of sea

We gaze with sacred honor on its sweep of mystery

That soon will spill its fill until twilight droops to erase

With hue of deep, deep, deeper blue this second day of grace 

 

…but now the spout that doles Today is rife with Mercy’s mete

God claps His hands and lays Love’s fortune ‘neath our fumbling feet

Time's street, a holy highway that no new day will retrace

My, my, how we should try to run full-well its gifted race

© Janet Martin