On Sunsets and Sonnets

‘Tis now the final hour of the day,
And fading sunlight coats each thing in gold
As though a miser here did have his sway,
Commanding Nature give him things to hold.

‘Tis now the season for all things to live,
Since they’ve survived and winter winds have blown:
Spring’s gentle breezes laughing mirth now give,
As daffodils do make their presence known.

‘Tis now: and Time can make that “now” seem cruel,
Like Fortune’s wheel turning ever on:
One’s life unwinds before one like a spool,
A moment captured’s still a moment gone.

‘Tis now, and soon it shall no longer be;
Yet “now” continues on through poetry.


Questions? Comments? Revelations?

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