Chasing Shadows
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An old sundial awaits,
Sol's kiss of glistening gold.
And aligned with the North star,
its gnomon stabs at the cold.
Tarnished and weather-beaten,
it waits for Sol to come back.
And stands in pools of darkness,
dripping drops of liquid-black.
Sol soon crests the horizon,
finally free from night's clutch.
And His light strikes the dial,
gilding its brass with His touch.
Time is tethered to its face
and is subject to its whim.
And silently creeps along,
chasing shadows at its rim.
It radiates like magic,
with a luminescent glow.
And denotes the time of day,
as long as thick clouds don't show.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016
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