By Arthur Stilwell
The sky which had circumference,
And the earth which had horizons,
Now have none.
The sun, simmering on the world's edge,
Erases rims and boundaries
Into an enchantment of unfringed space,
Like a glimpse of Creation's deeps.
Its fond rays reach with unlimited reach,
As it looks back on the mirroring heavens,
Discovering opals in the farthest clouds;
Or as it slopes crimson across the fields,
Picking out freckling sparks of scarce-seen sloughs,
And furnaces on far, unknown windows.
Of more than momentary splendour,
Lingering long in limpid afterglow;
Then, like man, after his times of pageantry,
Moving on into the eternal stars.
Published Onward Magazine, Toronto