At Last
How long left to glow
Like a light left on
An eye in the sun
Shutting a window
Shadow faces behind panes
Glassy features turn to rain
Wind blown places weather vanes
Ghostly whistle of a train
Limbs of trees straining low
With charcoal fingers grasp
Paper kingdoms follow
Rows of letters to clasp
As birth and death do form a bow
The present gift received for past
For only light is there to know
And only night remains at last
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2024-05-09 at 00:32
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