The Purple Hour

In the brief Purple Hour,
The Sun’s still down there,
Brushing his teeth
And now combing his hair.
The Moon, all the while,
Is yet in quite a tizzy,
Sipping away
At her nightcap, still fizzy.

And while this one night,
Bravely, faces its death,
It seems all creation
Is holding its breath.
Bathed in the softest
Of Royal purple hues,
Sound, too, is hushed
As the Sun seeks his cue.

The air of expectancy
Finally breaks
As a bright, red-faced Sun
The whole landscape remakes.
Embarrassed, he seems,
As if turning up late
At the door of the house
Of his heart’s longed-for date.

Bashfulness fades
And reveals Sun’s full glory,
Closing the book
On the Moon’s bedtime story.
Day after day,
The same story is read,
While most of us
Lie, fast asleep, in our bed.

Stephen Tomkins
16 June 2017
Perth

Advertisements

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? All are welcome!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s