A time will come when things will not improve
When they will be stable, or worsening
When descending will be your only move
Which will make lambent stillness comforting
Only a fool would dispute twilight’s charm
Its gilded air and russet shadows
Gossip about the night, but do no harm
Its inky future, each rosy dawn knows
Become more adept at slow mellowing
Practice smooth, stylish disintegration
Jejune whining or enraged bellowing
Show poverty of imagination
Gleam in the gloaming of a slow, sure end
Make of the twilight your shepherd and friend
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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