The dawn unfolds with buoyant tune
But now its trill reposes
With vesture of late afternoon
Upon a door that closes
Across what never more will be
Nor threatens its returning
Of this days joy or misery
Its pleasure or its yearning
A wisp of thought expands, a sea
Retreating to the reaches
Of mystery and history
Of love and what it teaches
Of how our moments in the sun
Or perhaps in the shadow
Must be relinquished; one by one
To past’s vespertine meadows
The clock upon Time’s fated wall
Someday will cease its order
And every man, both great and small
Must cross earth’s transient border
But on life’s little avenue
And for a little season
We bear our little grief or two
And do not ask God’s reason
The Dawn awaits, its buoyant tune
With ballad unrecorded
Whispers beyond the sallow moon
In versicle un-worded
With humble plea and gratitude
We gather thorns and roses
For years are swift and hours few
Before Time’s grand Door closes
© Janet Martin
