Daylight is a maiden, a mistress, mothering, dear.
A whisper that good mornings most assuredly are here.
She brings warmth to our grasses, our fields, our countryside.
She nurtures us from dawn to dusk, from her the shadows hide.

NIght is a dark faced master with but the moon to shine.
A brooding lonely nightmare, jealous of her time.
He dreams sweet of her nightly, in darkness he is kept.
Morning dew at dawn's new light reveals how he has wept.

They meet but for a moment before the dark of night
And linger in her sunset, together, one twilight.
His arms can never hold her, his shadow turns to black,
And it will seem like lifetimes till she'll be coming back.

He commands the crickets chatter, the mockingbirds loud twill.
In near madness he makes the rooster crow his will.
But none of this will wake her, tis not her time to shine.
He's alone there in his blackness left to pine.

The curtain of his loneliness lifts slowly toward the dawn,
And he is sure that he has heard his lovely daylight yawn.
Oh soon he'll see her rising, rested, bright and dear
And for another golden day, he'll again have held her near.

12/18/2002

Posted on 12/18/2002
Copyright © 2025 Mary Ellen Smith