Into the argent aftermath of Time
The fringes of this little day dissolve
And still the moments muster brave resolve
Dauntless they tumble from mute midnight’s clime
Where diamond daisies strew its meadowland
In regions boundless and unfathomed; vast
There is no future nor present and past
No seasons shifting this galactic strand
But here the moment-flow of hours rush
Illusive surge; weightless consuming force
Skimming earth’s canvas with a subtle brush
Youth slows beneath its ethereal discourse
Of fine-spun gossamer and evening blush
We are the Riders on a restless horse
The spinning-wheel of moments will not still
The Master-weaver is in full command
While baby drifts through fantasy’s dreamland
And midnight blots from view the distant hill
The hour does not pause when it is full
Each year bleeds seamlessly into the next
Toward the unveiling of its pretext
Beneath this vapid seed and harvest hull
Where the postlude of mortal moment flows
Relentless in its joy and sorrow surge
Whispered in breezes where the bracken blows
And willows weep an everlasting dirge
The spinning-wheel of moments never slows
Until past-present-future will converge
But onward now toward our dreams we ride
Life’s vim is not restrained by reigns of Time
And happiness is not a thing sublime
Withheld until we reach the other Side
Against Time’s restless horse we kick our heels
Midnight echoes the pounding of its feet
The dust settles in memories bittersweet
We close our eyes and view its phantoms reels
And now the midnight rouses keen resolve
To cherish carefully our measured lot
Smooth, the consumption of its breaths dissolve
And soon today is but an afterthought
Where legacies of our loves evolve
The Rider and the Horse will soon be caught
© Janet Martin
