As dusk now enters day’s release, so sooth
Do flowers bend with thanks, below. Uncouth
Are yearnings towards pure sun’s belief.
All know night follows day, without relief.

When flowers steep into the dark, no youth
Or fulsome angel weeps. For, sooth, it seems
No midnight burns as fast as me. As me, uncouth,
Just seems to be a flower black, as old as dreams.

So twilight ends as once again the night reboots,
As flowers loved in sunlight silhouette,
And time refreshes laughter’s bent, for sooth,
Day and night are happenstance; so uncouth.

As usual, I must confess, my point is moot,
So what is this? As usual, there is no point.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 5/25/11