The Sun sets behind the trees
(As it must, or else remain raw),
Spindly branches starved of leaves,
Until the freezing fiery glow disappears Behind an army of silhouetted bare twigs.
And if I listen to the breeze I hear night. I stay,
Until grey rain in twilight trickles Down the pane like a tear
Slithering down, down my cheek
As I perch at the frosted glass to see
If dawn will break again,
Or if, maybe,
She will hold steadfast.
Image Credit: Isabella Lill