Hidden Harbor

Between thunderstorms July gathered the hem of her golden evening-gown and disappeared into a blaze of glory...

All things come but to pass

Ethereal escapade

This very moment I hold fast

Hastens to its parade

From Here to There, how swift

What is becomes what was

This very afternoon adrift

On twilight’s faint applause

Parting’s presumptuous pain

Patterns its warlike art

Upon the dark; something like rain

Falls heedless from the heart

…where all things come to pass

Time follows time, but I

Would like to find the hour-glass

That harbors sweet July

© Janet Martin


On the last day of July I always feel like I'm at a farewell party. Do you?