A Later Quarter

A Later Quarter

My face is caressed by the golden fingers
of a soft morning sun.
Chattering leaves in their dizzying dance
implant a stilling peace.
The atmosphere inherits the crisp air
of a later quarter,
and my eyes are set by contented acceptance.

The colors of anticipated reunion
sparkle the land,
hues sucked from the Earth’s
undeniable call.
Soon, all veiled by the white spell
of quiet sleep.

Smoke rises from the distant chimney
of a warm home;
unmet ambitions gently laid to rest
in the billow of a long sigh.

– Maral Siegel.


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