Halted in their grand procession,
The embers of the day grow stiff,
Subsumed in dreadnought of unbending glass,
Which cradles flames at its own belly's seat,

Even in its flight, the passion of the day
Scorns bright topaz, rubies as if night,

A bright ruler of the dusk lit gold,
Becomes a herald and brief prince,
Faltered into royal red to bleed its fury
On unmoving bowels that face the stars.

O golden haze ephemeral,
I see you drift by mud slick roots,
Come watch the weary leaves turn bright,
Amber emerald in the gorgeous rays,
Like precious gems and golden drops,
Such beauty and high majesty,
To turn the wilting shrubs to glass,
To temper them like bronze in biting winds,
This golden haze that marks the air,
That causes springly birds to sing.

Words to pass the time:
Like [pass]ing salt and pepper grinders between,
[Grind]ing out the minutes and seconds,
[Second] to the moving clock,
[Mov]i[e]s rolling into hours,
[H]on[our]ing times and precious moments,
[Prec]ar[ious]ly stacking loose thoughts,
[Loos]ing clothes to slip on pajamas,
[Cloth]ing slippers in the sands of time,
[Sand]y, dusty and all cobwebbed up,
Like [cob]bled stone, long still and final,
[Final]ly the time is passed,
And words remain a sufficient slot,
To fill the time.