Closing time for flowers.

 

Late working bee's, using their well known, invisible way home

start zig-zagging out of sight.

 

Sunset is grace.

 

Cornfields, begin losing their goldenesses, to the darkening.

 

Silhouetted, against the twilight sky, intermittent quills of smoke,

rise, from a remote cottage chimney, whose glowing windows,

are announcing themselves, to the full fluency of night, once more.

 

This Summer evening, has now been completed, and,

all that has been a part of it, like the Summer evenings that will follow,

will also be subjected, to the same completion,

forever.