I wrote this during a lockdown. It wasn't as hard as the initial one in 2020. I spent less time thinking about what I missed out on and more time appreciating the things I cared about. This is the story of the view from my house, one weary evening. It's one of my favourite poems I have.

 

Hours clambered upon him,

One by one,

Till he bowed his head

And let his body drop

Toward the lingering day's end.

 

The clouds softened his fall

Till they brimmed

With his molten light.

Their grasp slackened too;

Out he spilled into the night. 

Into the waking night.

 

Every outstretched leaf

Soon was graced

With his copper lustre.

How the forest breathed,

And each tree shone like 

a brazen sculpture.

 

Waves hushed

and they swayed

as they held his dimming embers,

And nestled in his afterglow

The clouds shed purple feathers.