In the evening time, when
Earth’s good green has expanded
This dismal view, I feel the
Wail of the Night. Groping her
Undersides. Emboldened by
Eerie tales told by those
Whose wicks we’ve trimmed. They
Are remembered only in the beds
Of our youth or in the rattles of
A last night upon God’s great Sphere.
I ponder this wretched state.
And tranquility seeps like a balm.