The sun is slowing setting -
in the clouded western skies;
and chilly darkness covers all,
like for the one that slowly dies.

Wane of twilight has moved on -
cool night's formed and spread;
and a somber, quiet hush appears,
but nothing close by me is dead.

A page has turned, like in a book -
of this life's,  never-ending story;
and of the way we live it through,
and of God's auspicious glory.

It's only seasons ever-turning -
with the changes of each day;
tears of happiness that glow,
in the laughter of a child at play

Later on- I'll stand at your grave -
(or you at mine) then, we'll weep;
but not for very long, my sweet,
for you (or me), we are but asleep.