4 June 2012
In the gloaming twilight
The senses disappear,
Like closing ears and eyes: there is nought to see or hear,
And as the moon she rises
The sun takes to his bed,
And cherishes the world he loves with one last kiss of red.
In the growing darkness
The rod is spoiled: cones spared,
The colours fade and turn to grey; a monochrome that's shared.
As gloaming slips to glooming
The dark of night descends,
And with the night the blackness falls, and here this poem ends.
Gloaming • Opuss № I