Alone, I sit looking to the west.
Sunday is quickly going down
My lover, two states away, sees light,
But our Sunday sun is sinking now.

I remember the sadness of Sundays gone,
Those weekend breaks could not last long
Dreaded the call to bed and sleep,
Wished a few more hours my own to keep.

Today's sky was harsh and clear, and now the sun
Hangs low and lower on the line
Above the trees and houses, nearly gone;
My loneliness is for her, and so I pine.

A dog might put its head between its paws
Look forlorn, old, thoroughly dejected,
But I must do my chores and never pause
Long enough to feel I am neglected.

Older men and older women find life
Must leave them before long,
So when the days turn weeks, the strife
Of loneliness and worry comes along.

Old Frost said well that nothing gold can stay,
That morning gold must quickly fade away,
And so it is I linger on the sun's chill light
Before I totter off to hide from coming night.