The Sunset

Sinking the sun will drown in its own blood Touching With last conscience its oozed out blood Fingering Bine stemmed branches of oak tree Evil Stormed by good twin present everlasting Companioned On high pinnioned seas. Shrunk shriveled the heart Shudders in tentacles of willow trees Touching not the fervourless spirit Resting unwearied for nothingness Plumed and ruffled By bird songs of no avail. The death lament winded not In wilded plains Stormed downwards the reddish glow Shining With all the despaired Brained and eyed Ever felt by the human touch.