Perishing Hour
Upon the face of the sunBefore the world had begun
Was a smile no one now can see
When everything made was free
Now hidden by haze in the glare
Of day is something horrible there
Like time inverted or a frozen apocalyptic stare
Sometimes in the Falling sunset still
As the evening begins to chill
A shadow seeking something to devour
Is striking against the perishing hour
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2020-10-05 at 00:37
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