The Evening

The evening spreads across the sky,
the sovereign sun secedes,
the jamboree of day recedes
into a symphony
of warbling, squabbling, burbling birds.

The ether’s yellow light is lost,
the coloured flowers fade
into a thickening twilight shade
pregnant with a hóst
of secret, soundless mystery.

And soon the night will gather up
all mortal and immortal life
into her dárk and lovely lap,
from where again will rise the sap
of day, and stréaming sunlight say:
‘drink deep, drink deep of my golden cup.’


(written in mid 2015)

For more about the poem, see notes.

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