Thursday, December 18, 2014

Standing at the gate.

And at the gate we pause, and look back to
See where we have been, what route the day 
Has taken; and then we look forward again,
To the darkening night, and we lift the latch
And open the gate, and walk through into the
Waning hours of the day, embraced by night.
The softening velvet, diamond studded and 
Vast, casts over our tired heads a blanket of
Eventide, with the sighing of the settling world
Singing the evening collect, and the final
Chords of the closing hymn.
Today was, and has been, and never shall be
Again, for now we glide along the oil-deep waters
Of the night, holding straight our course toward
The distant and beckoning dawn.
Soon it will be the turning of the year, and the
Long and moon-luminous hours of night
Will give way to the pastel new-birth
Of spring and then to blowsy summer,
Thirst-quenched and greening, bloated
With the sunshine and lazily listening to
The song of the sleeping hours, with 
Only a bronze-tinged hint of autumn’s 
Winds and frosts to come. Each day,
Each long day, is the year in miniature,
The spring, the summer-noon, the 
Lazy-afternoon, and the winter of night.
And so we all live one life, and many lives
All at the same time.
And time and again we pause at daylight’s gate.

©  2ndwitch, 18/12/14

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