Another day’s end

Another death, because it’s in the air,
a day finished, full of rolling clouds
and digging leaf mould beneath the trees.

It ends, the year when the trees give in
to the restless wind and the need to rest,
let the seeds set, the squirrels feast.

It dies, a little part of us,
with each turn of the earth from the sun,
and the night comes cold

and whispering of the dark,
the frost and footsteps crunching in light snow,
prints heading into hiding,

the sweet song of the robin in the stillness,
the way the pale sun
slants between tree trunks.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

12 thoughts on “Another day’s end”

  1. So perfectly described–the ending of the year, and it is achingly poignant and beautiful.
    The trees “giving in” to the season and darkness, and still the robin sings.

    1. Thank you. The light came back yesterday afternoon after interminable days of rain and that murky green light that makes me think of the way fish tanks go when they’re no cleaned out.

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