I"ll swing by the corner of the old stone wall
'til the wildwood flickers with gold
when the last rose of summer hands me her breath
in the pale flush of unspoken hopes.

A sliver of newness rooted in grace
clings to the mellowing earth
to soak the windswept loneliness
tinged with silent mirth.

Each twinkling hour spins its secrets
strung on a withering bough
and slips through the shadows of fallen trust
to the light that Christ endows.

Wrapped in the Lord's abiding strength
I lend a warming clasp
and feel the year's adventures ring
preserved within God's grasp.

The broken hush of a faltering prayer
shaken still with fear
sweeps through the golden emptiness
where Jesus draws us near.

Tomorrow pours its steady promise
caught in the twilight's stare
and wakes His peace within our hearts
that guards the midnight air.