The day draws to a close
blinks lights on, off, and steady
across a vast and billowed tent
that spans horizon's circle.
Black canvas spurs grand disco ball,
puffs mirrors with sun's rays:
each light a dot of memory
of by-gone glitt'ring day.
While thoughts reflect unbounded,
light streaks from star to star,
and silence seeps the voices
from all but roaring cars.
To faded cloth.
A morning's ode of light and life
renews undaunted breath,
blows out the candle of the night
across entire breadth.
Dark to pale gray, a frosting sprayed
on land and sky and trees
and darkness fades in morning glee
as birds, in hymn, greet thee.
This dawn's new light beams pure-gold sun
across the clouds aflame
full force at last united with
this beacon's wondrous gain.
It roars in silenced, steadfast trek
crosses the sky each day
unwavering, till glory gone
and day draws closed again.
(c) 2017Iris B. Struller