Heart Of The Matter
The Hour Is Late
The hour is late,
Eyes sting from strife,
I gather my thoughts,
On my notion of life,
The hour is late,
And I make my retreat,
My room full of flowers,
The roses are sweet,
The thoughts seem to linger,
They dance without pain,
The tears all but gone now,
I don't feel the rain,
Close my eyes to the silence,
Pre-empting the dawn,
Condolences offered,
And friends all but gone,
Another page turned,
In my diary of life,
The lessons are sharp,
They cut like a knife,
Recompense in the grieving,
In time I move on,
I find consolation,
In the words of a song.
Linda Harnett, ©2007
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The Hour Is Late
The Hour Is Late
