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.
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