Order of the Day


The new light softly streams,
Through the lace curtains,
And I try to mend my dreams
Till Iím myself again.


I look into the sky,
Where cirrus clouds collide,
Laze in the summer light,
While the breeze talks to me.


A time for rose-red thought,
Long shadows casting,
Memories fleeting,
Fading and fraught.


Dusk is for grieving,
And for private tears.
Perhaps for believing
Despite what we fear.

© S N Solomons June 16th 2009

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