There is a space in time
such that cannot be grasp'd
happening in the blink of an eye
nor prose, nor rhyme can define
the instant twixt night's last gasp'd
and dawn's rosy fingered sky
eternity in an instant
the last hours of the Third watch
like the North wind, whose trumpet spake
to centenarian from infant
'tween sodden head, and sleepful thatch
'tween dreams, then awake
About the Creator
Jeremy Cavenagh
I am one of those people who has been almost everywhere, and done almost everything, I write stories, mostly fiction, or Science Fiction, and I write poetry.
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