Twilight

Morning’s beams bring light to see,

            promised warmth for things to be.

Eyes that open, limbs that stretch,

            beings moving breath by breath.

But twilight’s a strange time of day;

            shadows slip through leaves at play.

Breezes tinged with chill abound,

            wrapping skin round and around.

Solemn souls will still, and pause,

            thinking what days' actions caused,

What could, should or might have been,

            had thoughts of night been taken in.

Though in dark, no candle light,

            alters deeds done in days’ flight.

Bright stars do shine on and on,

            waiting once again, the dawn.

Anne Selleck

Copyright 2013