The Thoughts of a Wandering Mind When light’s lesser cousin is brought to trial, By the sodden dark that whispers of windy days, The weary sun - breathless on its last mile - Now toys with the pleasure of leaving. Flirting with the omnipresent breeze, The last drops of sunlight are sifted by the cavalry of leaves: Is it the dying glow itself that issues beauty unsurpassed, Or is it the subject of its taunts - the wandering fields, the shadowed jaunts – Which, sweetly so, do upon us their fine wonder cast? Wonder which, in turn, does mock us (thought sweetly so), And our naive stab at thoughtless beauty of our own. ‘It is a regret’ she says, through the sunset’s poisonous rhyme, ‘That water and earth should, when burdened with a mind, Delicately kill the innocence that first earned its part In natures sweet poetic script, performed with dignity and heart’. And when the dying sun, with grace, Should wander solemnly back to its starting place, The wonder left behind will surely shine, Tomorrow morn, when not a soul will care, nor even a wandering mind.
