The dark is blanched where full-moon light
Paints hill and dale all silver-white
As silent-silent falls the night
Like a still-life postcard
And dazzling on the listless lane
On boulevard and snow-starred main
Stirs something too hard to explain
Like echoes on a yard
Where once fair, carefree children ran
Strawberry lips and feet of tan
Before they wore woman or man
Encumbered with time's might
And standing where the day has gone
And stripped night naked to the bone
Save for Yore’s echoes falling on
A postcard silver-white
© Janet Martin
No comments:
Post a Comment
I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!