The Hours December 2023
The hours steal across the day, In whispers soft, or shadows gray. Each one a vessel, carved of light, Bearing burdens, dark or bright.
The dawn breaks, with a blush so shy, A newborn hour, reaching high. It stretches wings of golden dew, And paints the world in colors new.
The morning hour, a bustling bee, Hums with work and energy. Cogs of time begin to whir, Dreams awaken, plans occur.
Midday's hour, a molten crown, Hangs heavy, sunbeams beating down. Sweat and toil, a simmering sea, Moments stretch, eternity.
The afternoon, a languid sigh, Shadows lengthen, leaves reply. Thoughts meander, dreams unfurl, A quiet pause within the world.
The dusk's soft hour, whispered low, Breathes secrets as the shadows grow. Stars begin to pierce the blue, Whispers turn to dreams anew.
The midnight hour, cloaked in black, Holds mysteries on its back. Time unravels, secrets spun, Dreams and truths beneath the moon.
And so they pass, these fleeting parts, A symphony of beating hearts. Each hour a story, whispered, sung, The endless poem, time has strung.
So let us grasp each fleeting grain, The joy, the sorrow, sun and rain. For in these hours, life unfolds, A precious tale, in moments told.
Paul, you have expressed the feelings most musicians I know and have known truly feel. You captured it. You write from your soul — it is truly magical.
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