The Sun—slips down—its Scarlet Robe
Upon—the Hill—
The Breeze—collects—the Yellow Dust—
In Whispers—still—
A Sparrow—shakes—the Evening’s Hem—
To catch—a Star—
While Night—unveils—her Violet Ark—
From Afar—
The Earth—recedes—to Twilight’s Breath—
And Dreams—unfold—
The Skies—proclaim—the Quiet Death—
Of Light—untold—
:: 11.24.2024 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 