Day is gone, the light is fading,
And the trees are but shadows
Before the setting Sun.
Darkness and fear is invading
The hillsides and the hedgerows,
Concealing them, every one.
Yet, I feel, when our day is passed.
There will be no breaking
Of the unpredictable dark.
Our twilight shall be our last;
Our memories shall have no awakening
When time has left its contorting mark.
v
The shadows of our memories
May be wronged cursed and hated,
Slandered without repeal,
As we hate the shadows of the trees
When our knowledge is unsated
As to the truths they may conceal.
C.H. Shepheard
