A Touch Of Sunset

There is a tide mysterious as the sea,
Dividing light and darkness endlessly,
West of the moment's own necessity.

A touch of sunset on a distant hill
Gives vividness a little music still.
It plays our song, my friend, against all will.

Wind plucks the lonely harp strings of the air.
Loss of the landscape is beyond compare.
Our solace is the humanness we share.

Previously published, 'Poetry Depth Quarterly'

by Sandra Fowler

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