I do not write of sunsets,
Those farewells of weary days.
I will not speak again of forests
Or golden sunlit glades.
I have said my piece on oceans.
Brokered peace among the flame.
I have walked many an idyllic garden
To find each flower's scent the same.
At times the grass appears the greener,
A feature of how light strikes the blade.
The sabre seems as great a teacher
In the sunshine as the shade.
So I shall write again no more of sunsets
Those farewells of weary days.
I lay down arms against the evening.
To the dreaming
I cast my gaze.