Before Twilight Closes In

Light of day strikes snow-white cymbals

Lyricist of hill and dell

Spills inkwells of blush-bronze-purple

From a gold and coral bell

Thrums in hollows, hums o’er fallow

Strums the silver-frosted frond

Minstrel of brook’s shimm’ring shallow

Glides across ice-embossed pond

Sprinkles diamonds on the woodlot

Twinkles on the window pane

Sparkles in a quiet riot

On a star-embellished lane

Tweaks the chin of downcast dancers

Up, look up, The Maestro cries

Lest in vain we long for answers

While hope’s angel-throng replies

Kissing common curves with tincture

From a grace-anointed touch

Hinting at a bigger picture

Than the font of such-and-such

Teasing us with tender torment

Easing us from dance to dance

Teaching us to treasure moments

Before seasons still their stance

Shaping Time Enough to echoes

Live-laugh-love, the poets charge

While we grasp at hold and let go

Dripping from a quill at large

Quick, slow-down, stop, run, don’t dawdle

Tick-tock mocks the clock-ish sky

Soon soft shroud of dusk will swaddle

Morning’s ‘thus’ in lullaby

‘This is us’ what a love-language

You and I, together ‘we’

Darling, let’s not take for granted

Life’s free, finest luxury

Morning climbs above yon bowers

Like school-girls, we scale its grin

Searching frosted fields for flowers

Before twilight’s closes in

© Janet Martin