DAY

Lo! As the mad and magical hour rise,
Sun rides gold chariot in to skies;
Spite of the reaper's darkling doom,
Have nature yielded, captive to a loom;
Brickwork and briar cage the rose,
Craves for heady freedom's fulsome throes;
How her buds swell, ripen and gestate,
With luscious lust for life insatiate.

MAGIC

And so, with God's wand,
Adorn me with sparks,
From curve of hand,
That carve time's arc,
Wild needs must ask,
For freedom, play,
In immortal furnace,
Of magic day.