The sun draws the day in silence

To its yellow close,

And shadows’ light advancement seeks

What each final lit patch knows.


Our lengthened, shadowed frames emerge

And merge along those nowhere lines

Which stroll away, like tired eyelids

Or quiet, afternooning minds.


Thus conversation, thethered, tails,

Speaks itself to sunny sleep.

The people playing in the park

Play gently, letting shade its creep.


Though the golden light, submerged,

No longer casts its calmest play,

The Evening is not yet to fall

Upon remembered day.