Midnight flies on dark wings of legend —
Leathery whisperings of mystery and myth
Reach the casual ear with
An ease surely focused and meant
For a deliberately planned end.

Dawn battles in the golden armor of glory —
Raging lion-like; inordinately proud
Of his sequential triumphs taken daily
Upon cold Midnight's body and shroud,
Yet so easily muzzled by a humble cloud.

Twilight bathes in beatific serenity —
Secure and content to allow others
The honoring of the glory that is hers —
Inexorably gentle, the beauteous matron is she
Who silently strangles the day so Night may be.

© 1996, Aaron E. Brown