Sunset

A mournful chill descends.
The moonlight sounds return
To note what peace transcends
Towards twinkle-colored night;
Horizon feathers burn
And ash the dying sight.

The shadows growing old
Though winds are growing strong
(A lover’s lips grow cold);
And solemn, with a frown,
Disheartened Eve draws down
The light-spent lids of Dawn.

Originally published in The Journal of the Virginia Writers Club (Summer 2024)