The Light Is Going
The light is going
way over the small wood
it shrinks from the ploughed
gullies and blackbird runs
deep between the hawthorn
gilding still the leftover
harvest straw, the treetops
threading the november dusk
into stripped and lonely lifelines
On the hill's horizon
two lightning blasted trunks
await their final rest
like an old couple
in God's golden funeral parlour
only the old railway
holds a claim on tomorrow
all else is nature's slow sleep
turning its nose into the cold
pillow of night
and the longer stillness
which is ours for the watching
poem by Tommy Stroller
Added by Poetry Lover
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