The End of Day
The day is starting to fade.
In this quiet mountain glade.
The sun is sinking low
As I quietly watch it go.
Behind the mountain I see,
it slipping away from me.
The shadows of the trees
Are growing by degrees
They’re stretching across the ground
Creeping without sound,
like cold, black and long
skeletal fingers that belong
To some dark and deathly hand,
stretching across the land
reaching and straining
and slowly gaining
to once again this night
extinguish all that’s light
I watch the world slip
into their dark chilling grip
the night has quietly fallen.
My distant home is calling.
© James L. Frady
November 14, 2021
The day is starting to fade.
In this quiet mountain glade.
The sun is sinking low
As I quietly watch it go.
Behind the mountain I see,
it slipping away from me.
The shadows of the trees
Are growing by degrees
They’re stretching across the ground
Creeping without sound,
like cold, black and long
skeletal fingers that belong
To some dark and deathly hand,
stretching across the land
reaching and straining
and slowly gaining
to once again this night
extinguish all that’s light
I watch the world slip
into their dark chilling grip
the night has quietly fallen.
My distant home is calling.
© James L. Frady
November 14, 2021
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