And clasps the shadows to it's breast;
The crescent moon shines dim on high;
And in the lately radiant west
The gold is fading into gray.
Now stills the lark his festive lay,
And mourns with me the dying day.
While in the south the first faint star
Lifts to the night its silver face,
And twinkles to the moon afar
Across the heaven's graying space
Low murmurs reach me from the town,
As Day puts on her sombre crown,
And shakes her mantel darkly down.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar
[ behind the house]
I hope you each have
time at the end of
the day to pause and
watch a sunset.