The sun, an old hand at its craft,
Hangs its head low, bleeding light.
Night whispers through empty streets,
Chasing shadows into corners tight.
Barely a spark left in the sky,
It dips behind horizons' edge.
Stars blink awake with glee and surprise,
"Another day he'll run out of ledge."
But dusk is stubborn, a ghost's hold,
Haunting twilight's fading grace.
With every breath it steals from night,
Its eyes flare wild; its heart takes flight.
A last defiant dance with blue,
Before the moon steals all the show.
It paints the clouds in purple hue,
Bids farewell to day's slow grow.
Night rolls in like an old friend,
Covers earth with quilt of stars.
Dusk bows, a tired sentinel,
To dawn, it'll have one more last card.
-- Crosswire
"hard cut. clean signal."
--- SBBSecho 3.37-Linux
* Origin:
telnet://futureland.today https://blockbra.in (3323:1/100)