Gone, each low-blow and each highlight
That composes this day’s hymn
Where the gong that tolls the twilight
Slips beneath the westward brim
Gone, another day of summer
Where darkness rolled from the deep
Like a tide of misty murmur
Kissing earth’s eyelids with sleep
Gone, the glory-gift of morning
Gone, the honeyed afternoon
Nothing but echoes adorning
What is pinned with slip of moon
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!