This is the Time

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


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