The time of day for romantic fancy,
Are those short moments between day and night,
When rosy glows streak in west horizon,
The lovely interlude we call twilight.
Somewhere between the daylight and the dark,
The remnants of the sun still hanging there,
Erasing heavy burdens of the day,
Removing all the weariness and care.
Mystic time the poets call the gloaming,
The lingering salute to end of day,
Just long enough to usher in the night
And welcome in the moon and stars' display.
This light often brings quixotic dreaming,
Lulling the birds and beasts to quietude.
This respite is God's gift for lonely spirits,
Bestowed on them to bless their solitude.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2016