Panegyric To The Going Sun.
You're the dour flash through my window
when dawn creep –as lizard– to light.
You're the calm light, shining aglow
beneath the sky tho' dead at night.
You peep through holes twixt my fingers
like dripping sky tears, making holes
on the soil. You're heady, lingers
to cease; pry'ng through leaves when eve pose.
You're the cluster of ants behind the sky
You're the living dead, violence of the day
and the gentle darkness of night, so high
has your light shown, drained is it as wet clay.
When you stream down to fall on the sea tides,
With the warm touch of chirps on the Woods' Brook;
When you faint into the glades in like glides,
Go down the summer sun with swallowed hooks
like blue Peter on the sea; the helpless
effort of the day, the brightest dim spark
of the globe. The dour light of you is less
of twilight, the end of you is dawn- park.
"words from the innocent mind"