When the World Wears Winter Dusk...

The land is like a lullaby, where echoes lilt and leap

Its cadaver of days gone by slumbers within its sweep

Yon sky is like a highway where the feet of dreamers tread

While wandering the down reaches of nature’s feather-bed

The rock me, rock me rhythm of time's clock gathers its prey

While Winter’s beneficiary waits white whiles away

When it comes to the woo of dusk there is no hand-me-down

Ah, white of winter’s moonlit night, wouldst thou could weave a gown

For what fabric is finer than white winter’s hinterland?

It shimmers like a skein of satin flung from heaven’s hand

And on the hills that gently spill up to blue lowered bar

The stars like silver buttons bloom on fathoms from afar

Now almost-night succumbs to that which no one can hold back

Above the earth the girth of Orion dazzles velvet black

Dusk's deepening tugs heart-strings, such a soulful serenade

Touches and strums the darkness; one more Nevermore is made

And onlookers soft-caught between the future and the past

Grasp at the gossamer of what remains and what is cast

© Janet Martin

I have heard Time's Preacher thunder

in the still of dusk...