Dying Day

Around twilight’s cool shades of grey,
She slips and sighs and breaks away,
And through the troubled night she cries:
Awaiting death and wanting life,
She fears the coming of the night.
Alas! No more lives the day.

And as fades the dying day,
Her heart turns to leaden grey,
And o’er powered by the night,
She whimpers, cowers, flees away.
She fears the loss of her own life.
That is why through the night she cries.

Shrouded in darkness the willow cries:
”No more lives the darkening day;
No more are the comforts of contented life.
All is ash; All is grey.”
Loving mercy turned away,
All in the cold of night.


In the coming of the night
All of nature resounding cries.
Winter takes Summer away
In its death, the dying day.
Bright greens have turned to grey.
Its icy breath robbing nature of its life.

And what meaning has life
At the end of day and start of night?
All perception is but grey.
Darkness roars at raven’s cries.
Fighting ceases at the end of day.
The soul once enraptured flees away.

Soaring over the earth, clouds drift away,
Bringing their darkness over all life.
Thus drags on the dying day
Fading gently, painfully, woefully into the night.
All creation looks on and desperately cries.
All she sees as her eyes fade is grey.

Fleeing desperately away as comes the all consuming night
The light of life in darkness cries,       
”The day has turned to shades of grey”