The sunset had gone,
The sky had darkened overhead.
That was a fact, and yet
In the shrinking west there remained
That spread of orange hue, which clasped
The blackness of the knife-cut trees.
Then, just above, a patch of turquoise blue,
As light as the middle of the day.
Birds sang and tweeted into upright slumber.
Some geese flew home in prim formation
And in the distance two aircraft rose skywards,
Going, perhaps, to nowhere;
While, somewhere, in a garden,
A man sighs, looking up.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
The sunset had gone,
The sky had darkened overhead.
That was a fact, and yet
In the shrinking west there remained
That spread of orange hue, which clasped
The blackness of the knife-cut trees.
Then, just above, a patch of turquoise blue,
As light as the middle of the day.
Birds sang and tweeted into upright slumber.
Some geese flew home in prim formation
And in the distance two aircraft rose skywards,
Going, perhaps, to nowhere;
While, somewhere, in a garden,
A man sighs, looking up.