The shadow sword of night descends upon the field of day.
by Flak Rackham
The windswept crystal halls of light like shattered prisms lay.
To pulse awhile with bleeding fire as the evening seeps away.
The fiery buckler of the sun makes way before the ranks of gloom.
The Earth swings to Pluto's side. Apollo mans his western tomb.
Soon twinkling sentinels appear to watch afar the darkness reign.
Till Sol attacks the eastern rear and brings his glory back again.
My lord is neither hot nor gay. It is his hour to morn.
His face grows brighter through the day.
To lighten losses he has borne.
He beams forth gold generously. A monarch marching to restore
Till Terra's table turns about and shades dethrone him as before.