[Soaring Feather]

Thank You so much Sarge for posting this second in your series of Watch Poems.

This is excellent work and look forward to your third poem.

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning poets!
Sunday morning,
time to rhyme,
can we waltz in two/four time,
poets can do it just fine!

[Old Sarge]

Part the Third

Dawn...
the ending of Night,
and the beginning of the world of Light.

...and We are hiding.

Our time is over, these too-short hours of darkness which sustain us;
We leave our jobs, our night watches, and our places,
But before we return to the cells we create, as monastics of old;

We mount our silicon coursers, and ride the fields of Cyberspace,
We leave our messages and reports for one another, in the chinks of the walls,
passing through the corridors of this other-place,
seeking our bretheren, and finding them gone from here.

But the messengers are sure and true, and our bretheren arrange the meetings;
We hurry through the night, for our last discourse, and find each other;

And we dance the Virtual Waltz;
We clasp hands through space and time;
And we linger at the ballroom doors, whispering our goodbyes...

Until the daemons drop us from their grasp, and send us plummeting back to our cells, there to rest, perchance to dream...

...until the Moon rides above us once more.

Listen to Us...
The Children of the Night Shift...
What Music We Make.

(C) 1995 by John S. Rutt