The susurrus leaves translate the twilight hours fading feelings
A gentle wind does inspire a soft choir that echoes
Looking west, the eyes dream of capturing the farthest light
A portion will fade away to bring another reality for the night
Ne’er the soul forgets to say a goodbye to the retiring golden orb
Waiting with a prayer for the night that comes sooner
Eyes cannot perceive the spirit who comes to descend
Between the hours, one contemplates the temper of life
Boughs nod to obey the crips messages that hold some secrets
~Amitav
