Summons

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Summons

Sonnet

All sophistries vanish now as morning mist
Scattering its fever by fingers of morn.
Events like fickle birds swiftly have left,
Each moment feels the pressure of this dawn.

I wheel about a centre to all sights unseen,
The familiar hanging sun has shed its hold.
An unknown Presence has taken the rein
What transpires secretly within am not told.

Wither this be dire night or that benign day,
This made of doubt and that of sly error
With old assured certainty I cannot say.
Only is constant a name’s lingering murmur.

A silent rumour ranges through all of me
Of the approaching summons from Eternity.