Long Reprints Poems

The Twilight

The cadent curls recede upon the shore,
with fizzle sounds like brushes on a drum,
their once brave tune declined forevermore,
beneath the growing shades of a beach plum.

The shadow fingers stretch along the beach,
to close the eyelids of a sleepy sun,
on the horizon nodding her last speech,	
her closing song, as her best time is done.

Yet, she leaves fervent images behind,
reprints of joyous moments on the sand,
or backwash from tides pounding so unkind,
a montage of love sketches super grand.	
	
Before the final twilight curtain’s drawn,
seek to bask in the wonders of each dawn.