09 November 2007

not on this night the proper time

we find ourselves at north wind's back
not one of us on honest track
beyond our hands the sail is slack
becalmed we face a new attack

a kind of flower awaits the sun
we let the night complete its run
days full of light and work we shun
we have to speak and then we're done

a hint of winter in the breeze
dread hangs in shadow of the trees
the glass is drunk down to the lees
beings arrive our hearts to freeze

rend us before we have to pack
the phaser is not set on stun
and cold's not measured in degrees
no one may hear the final chime

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