After the daylight (Part 1)
After the daylight,
the evening slips
between seasons,
caught beneath
the ghostly glass,
of summer
and fall,
for hushed
are the whispers
this late afternoon,
tremblingly in silence
sown
upon winter
the last
scything,
of harvest grain
for time herself
does weep
and call.
For above
the first stars
peel the sky,
to blue
to grey
and then to sleep
and black,
the late hours
shiver,
in the chilling bells
of darkness,
mourning the last
for summer,
is never,
for looking again,
or turning back.
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