The Watcher

The evening comes and light begins to fade,
The watcher trudges home from o’er the way;
The opening of endless sky in braid –
The closing that is ebbing end of day

The only life the watcher knows is this:
To speak can mean to miss the subtle now,
And love is served at last by just a kiss;
For strength is more than just to disallow

Hold fast, the watcher thinks, hold fast, indeed:
And balm and dress a world
That’s poised
To bleed

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