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The Umbra of Twilight
A twilight, hard as it tries to disparage,
shall always remain dazzling in my mind.
The Sun, down, down, into the dark of night
carried off by the gloaming, gently it goes;
glaring, blazing, and impressive to the eye.
Never forget the astral stellar winks skyward,
from the ever-present celestial constellations.
The dark is cloudy; the dark is opaque, much
like the closing curtain during the end of a play.
The zany mists of morning, but a lazy sonnet,
as rising smoke from a snuffed-out candle.
A sunrise light is gnomish; smaller, shorter, but
full of the light of day. Incandescently yours.
Tarry along now, the night a glorious memory,
a magical one-act play that awakens your day.
The teapot whistles, a toaster pops, time for
a muffin with blackberry jam and green tea.
Copyright ©
Ken Allan Dronsfield
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