the shades are drawing, sight is leaving me:
i’m told it’s just the way it has to be.
a day must run its course, from east to west,
and light is just a thing we lease, at best.
through eyes, a thousand touches we receive;
some pure and true, while others may deceive,
still more may make us think, perhaps, a spell,
while some sweet few will kiss our hearts as well.
acceptance sounds so wise, so right, so fine,
but seems a crime on this side of the line —
for natural things we deal with as we must.
it’s cruel man, not nature, who’s unjust.
so when light goes at last, at least i’ll know:
night always comes, for days are made to go