Half-Light

Those early morning walks not long ago, through quiet fields, bathing in citrine tones, the sunrise in no hurry, pace is slow, gift-wrapped dawn, a present for me alone. But now, like river waters in a drought, daylight contracts, I savour every sip, the late month's arms of night are spreading out on shorter days they now tighten their grip. A sombre season, this, my mood is low, a melancholy feeling fills my chest sun sinks behind it's shroud, I watch it go, wish I could sail off with it to the west. Each night I feel it's loss but should not mourn, for our sunset is someone else's dawn.